


Art Freaks and Comic Geeks

by Coil



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (kind of), Alcohol, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Artist!Steve, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining, Pining, San Diego Comic-Con, Slow Burn, Steve's not the smartest but also not the dumbest, Tony kind of has an alcohol problem, Tony's a picky perfectionist and Steve's an artistic mess, Tony's still a genius, everyone's an absolute nerd, random character cameos are my kink, writer!Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-02-09 18:12:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18643396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coil/pseuds/Coil
Summary: Tony Stark had made himself a phenomenally renowned writer. The world had fallen in love with the heroes that appeared in his novels; captivated by his vivid words of life and colour.His next ambition was to publish a comic book series starring the much-beloved heroes of his novels. There was just one problem. Brilliant as Tony may have been with his words, his skills in the field of drawing were less than great. It didn’t help that he barely knew what his characters ought to look like in the first place.Enter: Mister Steve Rogers – an up-and-coming artist/illustrator with the potential to be brilliant.Their paths happen to cross at Comic-Con.





	1. Gotta' be red

**Author's Note:**

> First ever MCU fic. Let's see how this goes :))
> 
> I'm still in Endgame recovery mode so I had to write SOMETHING ;-;

“Last I checked, Iron Man’s armour was red,” Tony said behind his fist – staring wanly at the character draft pinned to the wall. “Why the hell’s it not red?”

Pepper sighed through her nostrils. “Colours can always be changed pre-production, Tony.”

Hissing through gritted teeth, Tony shook his head at the floor. It wasn’t  _ just  _ the colour palette that bothered him. Something about the way this artist had drawn the armour seemed far too robust; almost vulgar. Certainly not what he was going for. “This one’s not gonna’ cut it.”

“Well, that’s the last artist application, Tony. You’ve  _ literally  _ rejected all of New York’s art community.”

Tony slipped his sunglasses up over his eyes, inhaling deeply. “Not true. There’s that homeless guy downtown that makes those cute little postcards for a buck-fifty. Tell him I’ll be in touch once we get back from San Diego.”

“Tony, be serious,” Pepper said, her tone growing heavy. God, he hated it when she used ‘ _ the tone _ ’. “The publishing house expects the first-draft in less than twelve months. If you don’t find someone soon, they’ll drop the whole project.”

“Relax,” he slurred, turning his attention to the phone buzzing away in his suit pocket. “I got it under control. Besides, they can't drop me – I'm Tony-goddamn-Stark.”

Before Pepper could continue her badgering, Tony picked up the phone, turning towards his office door. “Sup, Romanoff.”

_ “Car’s downstairs, big-shot. You better not be late.” _

The man snickered beneath his breath. He’d almost forgotten about the Comic-Con panel this afternoon. His yearly attendance had become almost a tradition, having been part of his own panel for the last six years. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

_ “Good. See you in a few.” _

Tony hung up and left the office, trying to ignore Pepper tailing his every step. “At least try to get some info on potential illustrators while you’re at the convention.”

“Ever considered taking a vacation, Miss Potts?” Tony asked as he stepped into the elevator. “All that worrying’s getting me riled up. I’ll call you after the panel’s done.”

He dropped her a playful wink just as the doors closed shut; not missing the scowl the woman was bearing as he left.

Once out of sight, Tony let himself breathe again – removing his sunglasses in favour of rubbing his eyelids with the pads of his fingers. If he didn’t find a decent artist soon, this whole thing would be a complete waste of time.

He knew he was being pretentiously picky. Overthinking things. Labouring over every tiny detail. Heck, he  _ needed  _ perfection in his work to function. All of his published works had been written and rewritten at least thirty times each. The thought of failing now wasn’t an idea worth humouring.

He just needed to find the right artist. The perfect artist.

\---

“Mister Stark! Mister Stark, Sir!”

Tony froze in the hallway, his jaw stiffening as he heard the familiar beckon of an outlet journalist. Turning on his heels, he saw a single man – or boy, rather – jogging towards him with a notepad and voice recorder. “This is a restricted area for panellists only, you can’t be here.”

“Yeah, I know,” the kid wheezed, doubling over for a moment to catch his breath. “I jumped the fence, Sir.”

“You did what?” Tony glanced him up and down, somewhat impressed that he’d managed to sneak by the security team. Usually, they were on the ball with people breaking into Comic Con.

“Yeah,” he said, his lungs deflating as he fumbled to pull his press pass from his pocket. “Guys didn’t think I was a real reporter, they weren’t gonna’ let me in… so, I jumped the fence round back.”

“Aren’t you a little young to be a journalist?”

“Intern, Sir,” he said, looking a little flustered. “I-it’s an internship with Heroes Weekly.”

Tony removed his sunglasses, a slight smirk tugging at his mouth. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Peter, sir. Parker. And, can I just say, Sir – I’m a huge, huge fan of yours, I’ve read all your books and novellas--”

“You got a spider on your shoulder, Mister Parker,” Tony observed.

The kid flinched, muttering, “Oh,  _ gross _ ,” as he frantically brushed the ugly creature off his shirt.

“Here’s a little advice for that whole journalism shtick you got going on.” Tony slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes, proceeding to walk down towards backstage Hall H to prepare for his panel. “People don’t tend to take kindly to kids loitering in unauthorised locations. It only takes one arrest to have your press pass revoked. Play it smart, or don’t play at all.”

Peter’s eyes fluttered, his jaw falling open for a moment before stuttering, “A-absolutely, Sir – 100%, definitely. Holy shit, sorry, I just – never thought I’d get to meet you in person. You’re like, my idol.”

“Well, you got twenty seconds.”

The kid took a moment to realise what he meant, before his eyes went wide, scrambling to hit record on his voice recorder. “U-uhm, Mister Stark,” he began, holding the device towards Tony as they walked. “With, uh… with the announcement of your Comic book series coming into production, who can we expect to see in the new Stark Franchise?”

“The classics, obviously. Iron Man, Black Widow – probably the Hulk if I’m feeling adventurous. Got some new characters in production, but that’s all classified information.”

“Are you planning on continuing the literary series?”

Tony scoffed. “Obviously.”

“Who’s your favourite character?”

“From my works? Is that even a question? Iron Man. Next.”

“Is it true you base all your characters off of real people?”

“That’s a strong accusation, Mister Parker. But I’d call it heavily influenced.”

“Who will be illustrating the new comic series?”

“Aaand, time’s up.”

“Pretty sure I still had four more seconds, Sir,” Peter said as Tony stopped just outside Hall H’s backstage door.

“Yeah, well, tough.”

Just as Tony opened the door, Peter cleared his throat. “M-Mister Stark, Sir? Did I, uh… did I do okay?”

He cocked his head. This was probably the kid’s first ever field project. Tony smirked, nodding his head. “You got a bright career ahead of you, Mister Parker. Stay outta’ trouble.”

The young man’s face lit up at his praise. “Thank you, Sir! I will, don’t worry.”

With that, Tony left him in the hall; making his way backstage to grab a coffee before his panel.

_ Spider-boy? No – Spider-man. Teenage kid who got bit by a radioactive spider, giving him hyper-strength, senses, and wall-crawling abilities.  _ Tony snickered at the thought, pocketing the idea away for later use.

“Cutting it pretty close, Tony,” Natasha said as he entered the room. The rumble of press, reporters, and fans alike could be heard through the walls – simmering from Hall H where they were no doubt gathering in anticipation. 

“Got a little held up.” He walked towards the coffee machine situated on the far side of the room, trying to ignore the lingering eyes of his fellow panellists. Yeah, being America’s most successful sci-fi author tended to turn a few heads.

“How’s that illustrator hunt going?” Natasha asked, moving to stand beside him as he fiddled with the brewer.

“Fine.”

She quirked her brow up, her smile almost mocking. “You haven’t found one yet, have you?” It didn’t sound like a question.

“It’s going fine, Romanoff. Anyway, don’t you have better things to do? Figured a talent manager like yourself would be looking a little more busy.”

“Actually, that’s why I came to meet you. I think I know an artist you might be interested in.”

“Save it. Not interested in artists outside of New York. They gotta’ be local for the collaboration.”

“He’s from Brooklyn, Tony. He drove up here for Comic-Con. Got himself a booth where he’s selling prints.”

“Oh, I’m sorry; I wasn’t aware it was amateur hour.” A chuckle fluttered from his lips – met only by Natasha’s deadpan stare. Clearly, she didn’t find it all that funny. “Look, I appreciate you trying to help me and all, but I’m doing just--”

“Panelists for Sci-fi extravaganza to the stage, please!” One of the tech crew barked from the doorway. “Two minutes, people! Two minutes!”

“That’s my cue,” Tony said. “Hey – do me a favour; bring my coffee out once it’s done brewing?”

Natasha rolled her eyes with a slight smirk. “I’m your agent, Mister Stark, not your personal assistant.”

“Yeah, well, my personal assistant probably wouldn’t get me coffee either so – fuck me, right?” The two exchange brief snickers before Tony made his way out. He’s followed by vaguely familiar faces; associate writers who he couldn’t be asked to remember the names of. No doubt the people he’d be sharing the panel with.

As security lead them towards the stage entrance, Tony began fiddling with his phone. It seemed he’d received a few more applications for the illustration position; none of which piqued his interest. With a stubborn huff, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket.

Just in time to catch a glimpse of a canvas being wheeled away by a pair of tech crew.

Tony turned his head, his eyes drawn to the vibrant colours. Feet stopping on impulse, he called over to them. “Hey!”

The pair stopped just as Tony came over to take a closer look.  _ Holy fuck. _

It was a painting of a Superhero he’d never even seen before (and that alone was a rare spectacle.) A tragically patriotic figure dressed in the American colours of red, white, and blue. Face concealed behind a blue helmet-style mask. Left-arm sporting a hardy shield peppered in battle scrapes. The hero was painted with such rich fire in his gaze, that Tony half expected him to walk straight off the canvas.

Character concept? Insane. Art style?

… Perfect. Absolutely perfect.

“Mister Stark!” one of the security team called. “Sir, I insist you make your way into the Hall, immediately! We’re already running behind--”

Tony managed to drown out the rest of his words, instead turning to one of the tech crew. “What is this? Where’d you get this?”

“It’s an original piece by Steven Rogers, Sir. This one’s getting auctioned off at the plaza in--”

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” he muttered, waving his hand dismissively. “The artist – where is he?”

“I believe he’s hosting a signing in the exhibit hall.”

Tony wasted no time, quickly taking off in the opposing direction of the panel stage. “Mister Stark! Where the Hell are you--”

“Start without me, folks,” Tony said, not even turning back. “I got a date with my new illustrator. Peace.” Whatever complaints the staff had were soon drowned out by Tony’s own unruly imagination. This new series was going to take the world by storm.

\---

“Not to be  _ that  _ guy,” Bucky muttered from behind Steve’s merchandise stall – busying himself with tidying up the posters strewn about the table, “but I  _ really  _ should be getting paid for this.”

Steve laughed softly, signing his thirty-seventh poster of the day. “C’mon, Bucky, you know I would if I had the cash. I’ll write you a check as soon as I--”

“I’m not saying I  _ want  _ your money. I’m just saying I  _ should  _ be getting paid. Heck, if we weren’t such good friends, I’d call this modern slavery.”

Steve finished off signing the poster, sliding it back towards the young man with a grateful smile. “Thanks again,” he said, earning a giddy salute from the fan.

He glanced around as comic geeks and sci-fi nerds alike began to flood through the exhibit hall – not many seeming all too interested in his art. Frankly, not a lot of Comic-con attendees tended to invest their money into characters they weren’t familiar with. Steve was lucky enough to have a small, if gradually expanding, fanbase that happened to adore his work despite his lack of publications. 

With no one at his stall for the moment, he decided to take a short breather.

Leaning back in his chair, he said, “Maybe I should write a graphic novel.”

Bucky give a low snort. “Yeah, right. You know you actually have to have  _ characters _ to write a novel – right?”

Steve pointed over his shoulder to the graphic print of his prized protagonist, Captain America, hanging proudly on display.

Bucky blinked, his expression sinking a little. “Yeah, and these things called plotlines? And character arcs? Ever heard of those, Steven?”

“Alright, alright, I’m working on it.” Bucky bore holes into the side of his head; as if he  _ knew _ how big of a lie that was. Truthfully, Steve hadn’t worked on anything beyond a face and suit. The idea of Captain America’s shield was actually Bucky’s idea. Of course, Steve always knew how to bring brilliant ideas to life.

It was the whole… ‘ _ actually writing anything down’  _ part he sucked at.

“Look, man,” Bucky said, leaning his elbows against the table, “I love Captain America as much as the next guy. I mean, God knows we  _ need  _ an American hero to look up to in this day and age. But you’re just not there yet.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, trying to swallow his pride. “Plot, arcs, so-on, so-forth.”

A sudden uproar caught the young men’s attention. The crowds clustered about the expo began to swell with excitement – rushing towards the west side of the hall. Cameras began flashing and squeals fluttered through the air.

“Is an event starting, or something?” Bucky asked.

Steve shook his head. “There’s not supposed to be. I checked the schedule.”

Steve stood from the stall, making his way around the table to see what the commotion was all about. It didn’t take him long to make out the name, “Tony Stark,” woven into all the shouting.

_ Tony Stark? As in…  _ **_the_ ** _ Tony Stark? Well, I’ll be damned. _

“Excuse me – hi, yeah, can’t talk – yeah, I’ll sign that later, alright, yeah, thanks – ” The crowd parted as the man himself emerged from the masses; strolling over in his crisp designer suit and sunglasses. Shorter than Steve had expected.  _ Handsomer _ than Steve expected.

And… apparently heading straight towards him.  _ Oh… okay _ .

“Steven Rogers, if I’m not mistaken?” Tony said, coming to stand two feet in front of him. Within seconds, Steve found himself surrounded by Stark’s hoard of press and fans; practically drowning in the chatter. It took him a moment to notice Tony offering his hand for him to shake.

“Steve,” he corrected, taking up the man’s handshake while trying not to go blind behind the onslaught of camera flashes. “I’m a fan.”

“Yeah, everyone here’s a fan.” Tony twirled a finger, referring to the entirety of Comic-con’s attendance. Behind his sunglasses, Steve caught a vague glimpse of the man’s eyes; warm and mellow, despite their apparent tiredness. Would be nice to capture on a canvas, he thought to himself. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in--”

“Sci-fi extravaganza panel? Yeah, little late for that. But that’s not important right now.” Tony took a few steps closer to Steve’s merchandise stall, lowering the frame of his sunglasses to scan the pieces of art pinned to the display. “Saw one of your pieces being taken to the plaza. Got a little inspired.”

Steve blinked his eyes, his brow shooting up. “Wow, uh… thank you, that means a lot. ‘Specially coming from you.”

“Not exactly on board with the whole star-spangled, American propaganda vibe – but hey, you got talent.” Despite his mocking tone, there was a hint of sincerity to his words. “You ever heard of Iron Man?”

Steve managed a charming smile. “I don’t think there’s a single person under this roof who hasn’t heard of Iron Man.”

“Great. Draw him for me.”

Steve’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry, what?”

Tony jutted his chin towards the stall table. “You heard me. Sit your ass down, and draw me Iron Man.”

“Okay – firstly,” Steve said, keeping a calm temper, "I don't really care who you are, I don't do free commissions."

"It's not a commission," Tony interrupted. 

"Secondly, the least you could do is ask a little nicer."

Tony stared at him with an arched brow. "Okay, that’s a lot of sass for a kid with no credentials. I’m trying to do you a solid here. Think of it like… a job interview.”

“A… what?”

Bucky cleared his throat as he stood from the stall. “So, what exactly’s going on?” he asked.

Tony turned towards him, cocking his head. “Are you Mister Rogers’ representative or something?”

“Hah! Yeah, sorta’.” 

“Good. I’ve been considering Mister Rogers for an illustrative position for my upcoming comic series.”

The crowd surrounding them grew rowdy at his words, with Steve’s jaw falling open.

“ _ But _ , before I can offer any sort of job, I need evidence that he’s capable of drawing what I want in the way that I want it. It’s a perfectionist sort of gig. So, I figured if I could get Mister Rogers to do a quick sketch for me--”

“Yeah, sure! He’ll do it,” Bucky cut in, patting Steve across the shoulders.

“Will I now?” 

With a nervous chuckle, Bucky said, “Can I have a minute with my associate?” 

Tony shrugged his shoulders with a nod; as if he couldn’t care less. No sooner did Bucky drag Steve behind the stall table, hissing to him in a hushed tone, “Dude, you’ve  _ got  _ to take this. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity to work with  _ the  _ Tony Stark.”

Steve squinted his eyes, thoughts racing with uncertainty. “I dunno’, Bucky, I’m not exactly into the whole corporate goon thing.”

“Remember that whole ‘ _ lack-of-plot’  _ thing we talked about? How do you think Stark got successful? The man’s an idea machine! You wanna’ write your own comic – this is the best opportunity you could ask for!” 

Steve had to grit his teeth, glancing towards Tony, who was now engaging in an apparently hilarious conversation with one of the many press members. He knew Bucky was right. Working with Stark could potentially further his own career dramatically. Plus, it was a brilliant way to expand his current fanbase.

Sighing through his nostrils, he muttered, “I need some paper. And a pencil.”

As he sat himself down at the stall table, a scrap from a reporter’s notebook was placed in front of him – followed by a painfully blunt pencil.  _ Well… I’ve worked with worse. _

Tony Stark wandered over, leaning his palms against the edge of the table. “You good?”

Steve tried to ignore the man’s aloof nature, twirling his pencil in his fingertips as he stared at the page. “I need a basic description.”

Tony ran his tongue over his teeth, humming lowly. “Well, the Iron Man suit is an exoskeleton, gold-titanium armour with vibranium plating. Main external power outlets being the repulsors, and arc reactor – not to mention the internal AI mechanics. At least, in  _ this  _ edition – previously it was just--”

“No I mean,” Steve bit back a snicker, almost humoured by Tony’s apparent obsession with metals. “What’s he actually look like?”

Tony’s eyes fell towards his shoes, sheepishly trying to hide his expression. Steve didn’t miss the colour rising to his neck as he cleared his throat. “I’m still figuring out the kinks.”

_ “... So, you don’t know what he looks like?” _ Was what he intended to say. Instead, he just smiled. There was something strangely endearing about Mister Stark’s clear adoration for his characters, despite being so clueless to their visual appearance. 

“Why don’t you, uh,” Tony cleared his throat again, “just… draw what  _ you  _ think he looks like.”

Steve, with a humble chuckle, drummed his fingertips against the table. He’d never been the type to step away from a challenge. Of course, it’d been almost a year since he last read an Iron Man novel.

Then again…

He began sketching out the basic construction lines for the character. Iron Man was more brains than brawn – he’d have to try and reflect that in his appearance. Glancing up at Tony, who was now watching him with eager anticipation, Steve bit back a chuckle.

Frankly, Iron Man didn’t seem too dissimilar to Mister Stark himself. Both apparent geniuses, neither particularly humble. Steve kept it in mind as he began on the armour.

“So why me?” he asked, not looking up from his work.

Tony hummed as if he’d not heard the question. 

“Why go for  _ ‘Mister no-credentials’ _ ? Why not some published illustrator, or one of your advertising goons?”

“I wasn’t into it,” Tony said simply. “But I like the way you draw.”

Steve smiled down at his sketch, both humbled and amused. “Thanks.” He added further details to the armour’s plating, trying to ignore the constant attention from both Tony himself, and the press surrounding them. Easier said than done.

And yet, with every added stroke of his pencil, Stark’s interest only seemed to grow. He’d gone from standing, watching Steve work, to kneeling by the edge of the table – elbows propped up and sunglasses tucked into his pocket. Even with just the slightest glance, Steve could see the excitement brewing in the man’s gaze.

“Where’d you learn to draw, Rogers?” Tony asked, clearly trying to sound nonchalant.

“Self-taught,” he replied. Tony clicked his tongue, not saying another word. Steve could only snicker to himself. 

He finished the sketch off in silence, the hall growing silent despite the lurid flash of camera lights. Once he was more or less happy with his work (rushed and sloppy nature aside) he turned it towards Tony – slapping his pencil down and waiting for a verdict.

Tony scooped it up in hand as he stood to his feet, examining the illustration with deepest intrigue.

Steve had drawn Iron Man in an action pose – flying through the sky with an outstretched hand. The armour’s design flowed with brawn and a touch of elegance. Strong in nature and precision, complemented by a build that reflected the contours of human muscle. Even in such a rough sketch, Steve had successfully captured what Iron Man’s character was all about.

“It’s… good.” Tony’s eyes were bright despite his apathetic attitude. “Perfect, actually.”

Steve had never seen a man look so enamoured by one of his drawings before. It was different to when one of his fans smiled in admiration at one of his posters; appreciating his work for how cool it looked on paper.  But that glint in Tony’s eye was more than admiration. Profound interest disguised by an indifferent nature.

It was… rather adorable, actually. 

“I want it in red though,” Tony said, folding the sketch up into quarters.

“Red?”

“Yeah – but we can talk that over later; I’ll brief you before next week. My assistant, Miss Potts, will probably be in touch within the next couple of days. But I’ll need you down in Manhattan by--”

“Wait, wait, wait – so… I got the job?”

Tony turned his head, colour rising to his neck as he cleared his throat for the third time. “Yeah, you got the job. Didn’t I say that already? Whatever, I’ll run the details by my agent before next--”

“Thank you,” Steve stood from his chair, startling Tony for a moment. He held his hand towards him with a gentleman’s smile. “I look forward to working with you, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s brow twitched for a moment, before nodding briskly – accepting the handshake. “Yeah. Sure.”


	2. Dinner at 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter!!

Turns out making a comic’s a little more complex than throwing a bunch of vaguely coherent ideas at a talented artist.

Tony found that out the hard way after forwarding 66 gigabytes worth of character documents to Steve via email correspondence; before receiving a prompt, if slightly brash, response.

_‘With all due respect, Mister Stark,_ _  
__What exactly am I looking at?_

 _All the best,_ _  
__S. Rogers.’_

Clearly, he was running a few steps behind.

Tony poured himself a shot of whiskey; plopping himself down at his desk with a groan. Day-drinking. First signs of an artist’s descent into desperation. At least he had a good run. A twenty-year legacy to be precise. But that was all about to go trickling down the drain because his so-called illustrator was a thick-skulled, Dorito-shaped dummy with a lack of narrative vision.

How’s a guy who does nothing but draw and paint all day get so physically fit anyway? The man looked like he was carved straight out of marble. Tony brushed the thought aside, choosing to down his drink in one swift gulp.

With his temper slowly simmering away in the solitude of his office, Tony decided to pluck Steve’s sketch from his pocket. A tired sigh escaped his lips as he unfolded the paper – eyes tracing the remarkably bold lines upon the page. 

How had Steve known? Even Tony hadn’t known; yet somehow, Steve had taken the profound concept of Iron Man as a character and built the perfect image. The man had made something wonderful out of nothing. A skill Tony had been attempting to perfect for years, yet never succeeding.

Grumbling to himself, he tossed the sketch onto the desk. As much as he’d rather work on this passion project alone, he needed Steve’s talent. Even with years of training, Tony would never be able to replicate the man’s work. He needed him.

With a reluctant hand, Tony drew out his mobile. Pepper had forwarded Steve’s number to him a couple of days ago. It only took him a few seconds to find it in their message history.

Staring down at the number, Tony paused – letting his thumb hover for a moment. His heart felt a little unsettled; ever so slightly picking up in pace. Almost as though… as though he was nervous to call.

_ Bullshit.  _ Tony dialled the number, counting four rings before a well-mannered voice chimed,  _ “Steve Rogers speaking.” _

“Sup, Rogers,” Tony said, reclining in his chair to prop his feet up onto his desk. “Business treating you well?”

Steve’s laughter rumbled down the line. A strangely pleasant sound.  _ “You could say that. Ever since the whole Comic-Con shindig, all my pieces have been bought off the market. Guess people are pretty hyped about me illustrating the Stark series.” _

“As they should be,” Tony said, almost teasingly. He then drew a slow breath. “So, we should probably talk.”

_ “Yeah… um, about those documents you sent me. It’s not that I don’t get it. I just… it’s a lot of information for one guy to take in on a Saturday morning--” _

“Sure, yeah – I get that. Which is why I’m booking us a table at Eleven Madison Park – seven o’clock tonight sound good?”

_ “I… uh, what?” _

“It’s called a business dinner, get used to it.” 

_ “Oh… uh, okay. Sure thing.” _

Tony felt a twitch in his eye, drawing his lip between his teeth. “We’ll just be discussing the general outline of the series – no need to get antsy about it, Cap’.”

_ “Uh-huh.” _

“You don’t sound too convinced.”

There was a nervous laugh, followed by a brief rustling of paper.  _ “Yeah, no – sorry. It’s just… well, fine dining's a little out of my price range.” _

Tony blinked, growing silent for a moment. “You do realise my net worth’s 11.5 billion – right?”

Steve choked, his words getting lost along the way. Tony drew a hint of a smile. What a guy.

“Yeah, I figured I’d be covering the check. Just get to EMP by seven and I’ll meet you there. Miss Potts’ll send you a confirmation email in a bit.”

_ “Are you sure about covering, because I can just--” _

“Can it, Cap’. This evening; seven o’clock. Be there, or I’ll trade you in for a monkey with a paintbrush.”

Steve gave a subdued chuckle. There it was again. That soothing laugh, warm and slightly raspy.  _ “Okay, I’ll be there. But, uh… “Cap’”?” _

“Yeah. Figured Captain Rogers could match up to his Protagonist, Mister America – amirite’?” Tony tried not to grimace.  _ Wow. That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said, Stark. _

Despite so, Steve seemed rather amused.  _ “Captain Rogers, huh?” _

“Yup, that’s your tag now – deal with it.” 

Swallowing his mortification, he almost felt relieved when Steve said,  _ “Well, it does have a catchy ring to it.” _

“Cool…” Tony cleared his throat, his fingers starting to fidget. “So, seven?”

_ “Seven. ‘Til then, Mister Stark.” _

\---

In hindsight, Steve probably should have left a little earlier.

His motorbike deciding to run dry about three blocks down from the restaurant really wasn’t helping his case. Deciding to abandon it in a nearby parking lot, he proceeded to sprint the rest of the way – near getting flattened by a taxi in the process.

The concept of a dress code was also embarrassingly foreign to him.

As he rushed into the fine establishment, his arrival was met with wolvish glowers; men and women snarling while their eyes traced him up and down – in silent but coarse judgement. 

Steve looked down at his timeworn jeans and bike jacket to realise just how out of his element he was. All around him were smartly suited gentlemen in designer shoes – bearing smartphones and Bluetooth headsets. They all wore permanent scowls on their faces; even while being seated for their meal.

With a sour dryness in her tone, the front attendant asked, “Do you… have a reservation?”

Steve smiled, keeping himself civil. “Yeah – seven o’clock. It’s probably under Stark?”

He felt the room grow still, whispers dying and eyes bulging.  _ Yup. Who’s laughing now?  _ After checking and double-checking the reservation with narrowed eyes, the woman reluctantly showed Steve to the table.

A portion of the restaurant had been sectioned off – accommodating nothing but the pristinely polished bar and a single booth. Tony was already seated, wearing a handsome suit and tie combo. It would have looked a touch too formal, had it not suited him so stunningly.

He was busy scrolling through his phone, face drawn in a frown of concentration. The expression didn’t soften – even as Steve approached. “Good evening, Mister Stark.”

“What’s good about it.”

_ Sounds like someone’s in a mood. Dually noted.  _ “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Tony stifled a noise somewhere between a groan and a grumble. “Sit down.” Steve did as he was told, seating himself just in time to catch Tony’s look of slight repulsion. “What the hell are you wearing?”

Steve scrunched his nose with an apologetic sigh. “I, uh… came straight from a workshop.”

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed – thumbs massaging at his temples. “Alright, from now on – no more denim to dinner meetings.”

With a firm nod, Steve said, “Got it.” He only then noticed the half-empty bottle of wine on the table – accompanied by Tony cradling his own forehead; trying to resist the urge to sway in his seat. “Rough day?”

“I work better while at least 57% inebriated.” Tossing his phone down onto the table, Tony leaned back in his chair. For a moment, he just kept Steve in his line of sight – his gaze exhausted, yet ever so hopeful. The type of gaze that Steve just couldn’t bring himself to look away from. Not that he particularly wanted to. “I got an idea. For the comics, I mean.”

Steve perked up at the notion. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s a working title but…” Tony’s eyes brightened a little, his lip curling. “I’m calling it the Avengers initiative.”

Steve listened intently as he went on to explain the mechanics of the series; clinging to every word that left Tony’s lips. A team of extraordinary superheroes against the world’s greatest threats. Fighting everything from extraterrestrials to government enemies. 

Tony went on for a while about each and every Avenger he’d created thus far. The amount of thought he’d put into even the most minuscule of details was astonishing. He even mentioned the characters that were still in development – such as the man who could shrink to the size of an ant, or the girl with chaos magic at her fingertips.

At some point during the dinner, food had been brought out. Of course, Steve barely noticed over Tony’s ramblings. _ God, the guy really knows how to talk.  _ Nevertheless, he stayed intrigued. Steve was already conjuring up some design choices in his mind; adreneline-spiked excitement flooding his chest at the very thought.

“How do you do that?” Steve asked, smiling at the slight confusion settling on Tony’s expression. “You make it look easy. Like you got a whole world inside your head.”

“I  _ do  _ have a whole world inside my head,” Tony said flatly. “Not gonna’ lie, my psychiatric evaluator's sort of getting stressed out about it.” Steve rolled his eyes with a humoured shake of the head. “What about you?”

“... What  _ about  _ me?”

“You got that whole wasted talent vibe going on. I mean – I’m not gonna’ sit here and pretend like you’re not the most talented artist I’ve ever met.”

Steve smirked. “You really think so?”

Tony scratched the back of his neck, eyes coyly tracing the edge of the table.  _ Cute.  _ “Yeah. I do. Which is why I’m kind of baffled by the fact you don’t have a published comic. You an underdog-type or…?”

“I’d publish a comic if I could, but… well, I’m not exactly a genius when it comes to writing.”

Tony sniffed. “Can’t relate.” Steve chuckled at that; unsure if Tony was mocking him, or just boosting his own ego. Or both. The two sat in silence for a moment before Tony muttered, “Ever thought about the early 1940s?”

Steve arched an eyebrow. “Uhm… why?”

“Captain America – I get that whole Nazi-ass-kicking aesthetic from him. ‘Specially with all the patriotic bullshit you’ve been throwing into your art-work.” 

“Patrio-- I’m confused.”

Tony shrugged his shoulders. “You could make him some sort of war hero during the later years of the second world war. Old-timey bad-ass if you know what I mean.”

Steve blinked his eyes.  _ Wow, that’s… actually not a bad idea _ . “I thought  _ I  _ was meant to be helping  _ you  _ with your comic, not the other way around.”

“Help’s a two-way street. Besides…” Tony scrunched his eyes tight for a split-second, as though fighting off a migraine, “I’ve been drinking since 11:00 am, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to...” The man leaned his elbows onto the table, his head hanging down with a groan in his throat – as though a pile of bricks had just collided with the back of his skull. “Yup, there it is.”

“You okay there?”

“Peachy, Cap’, just peachy.” The husk in his tone, accompanied by a slur, really wasn’t all that convincing. Steve instinctively reached a hand across the table to steady Tony’s shoulder. “I think I’ve invented the first consecutive hang-over while still being intoxicated.”

Steve chuckled, only now noticing the rosy tone flushing gently over Tony’s skin. “I’d offer to drive you home, but I left my motorbike dead in a parking lot.”

“No worries – I got a car.” Tony reached into his pocket and drew out a set of keys – twirling them around his index finger. “You, uh… reckon you could drive?”

\---

Really not the way Steve had seen his night going.

Taking directions from a drunk Tony Stark (who was very clearly trying to refrain from hurling the contents of his stomach out of the passenger window), while spontaneously driving a vehicle that was worth more than his entire life’s wages. Luckily, Tony intended to spend the night at Stark Tower for work purposes; meaning it was only a few minutes drive.

“Y’know, Cap’,” Tony said, seeming to settle into his state of nausea, “I’m really sticking my neck out there for you.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“This is my life’s work. Without it, I’m basically nothing.” Steve tensed at the statement, taken aback by Tony’s sudden modesty. The man who always boasted of his genius had a soft-spot for the world and characters he’d created.

With a tender smile of reassurance, Steve said, “Don’t worry, Stark. I won’t let you down.”

“Yeah, you better not. And drop the Stark… it’s Tony.” 

Glancing over, Steve felt his heart grow heavy with purpose. A harsh, but strangely comforting feeling. Like he knew how much this job truly meant. Nodding his head, he said, “Okay, Tony.”

\---

The following morning, Tony woke up on the settee in his office; greeted by the swelling of his brain pulsing painfully in his skull. The light drizzling through the window left ugly stains in his vision. Judging by the stench of wine still present on his skin, he could only assume the worst.

“God… fuck.”

“Language,” a familiar voice mumbled from across the room. Tony near jumped out of his skin when he saw Steve standing by his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“What the fuhh--” Tony gave a violent groan as he sat up, his head still spinning. “What are you-- why are you...”

Steve shrugged. “Well, after you passed out on the sofa, I couldn’t in good conscience leave you by yourself. Didn’t want you choking on your own vomit while you slept.”

“Pretty sure I’d have survived,” Tony muttered, despite still swallowing his nausea. When he moved to stand, he heard a crinkling beneath his feet.

_ What. The. Fuck. _

The carpet was covered in a layer of loose notebook pages; dozens upon dozens that Tony could barely see the floor. Each page was decorated with a piece of character art. Had Steve spent all night just…  _ drawing? _ Without hesitation, Tony scooped up the nearest sheet – a sketch of the Hulk drawn in ball-point pen. Lack of green aside, the balance between human and grotesque was astonishing. 

“I borrowed one of your notebooks. Hope you don’t mind.”

“You can borrow all of ‘em,” Tony uttered under his breath. Steve laughed, staring down at the mess with an ounce of guilt in his expression. “Seriously, we should set up a studio space for you in Stark Tower.”

“So you can spy on me while I draw?” he asked playfully.

“Don’t tempt me, Rogers.” When Tony looked up, he felt a stutter in his chest. Steve had his eyes on him – remarkably clear, and so crisp in colour.  _ Jesus Christ _ . “I’ll, uh… I’ll have Pepper clear out one of the offices for your use. It’ll be easier if you start working here regularly, so we can keep tabs.”

“Alright. I’m down.” 

“Good. And clean up this goddamn mess.” Tony made to walk out of the office, before pausing – eyes scanning the ground. “... Actually, scratch that. I’ll keep the drafts.”

“Uh… they’re not really drafts,” Steve said. “Sort of just… doodles.”

Gazing down at the multitude of characters,  _ his  _ characters, peppering the floor, Tony felt his heart begin to swell with affection. They all looked so wonderful on paper. How could he throw them away? “... Nope. They’re drafts. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

With a polite smile, Steve shrugged his shoulders. “If you say so, Boss.”


	3. What's missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3!! Hope you enjoy!! :D
> 
> This one's quite a long chapter, so brace yourself :P

When Tony had put forth the idea of a studio, Steve had expected something more like a four-by-four office with a desk, an easel, and maybe a couple of pencils and paper to get him started.

Instead, Pepper led him into a grand glass workspace situated on the second highest floor; windows overlooking New York’s glistening skyline. Oaken shelves towered by the walls – each cubby stocked to the brim with every art supply known to man. By the centre sat a large work station, already occupied by a desktop computer and drawing tablet.

Speechless, Steve stood in awe; scarcely noticing Pepper handing him a security pass. “Feel free to come in after hours to illustrate. This area is completely at your disposal.”

Steve swallowed, his brain taking the time to process. “I’m sort of used to something… smaller.”  _ Bucky’s attic to be precise.  _ “... A lot smaller.”

“Well, I did tell him not to go  _ too  _ crazy on the renovations. But, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.” As Pepper made her way out, she added, “Mister Stark will be by later today to see how you’re doing. Until then, I suggest you start getting settled.”

The moment she was out of the door, Steve went about grabbing a graphite pencil and sketch pad from the shelf. Somehow, the drawing tools  _ alone _ felt more expensive than his own apartment.

It was only when he approached the work station that he noticed the dainty white slice of card propped up against the computer. It was a note. Printed in ragged handwriting were the words:

_ ‘Welcome to Stark Tower ~ Knock yourself out. _ _  
_ _ \- Tony’ _

Steve couldn’t resist a smile. To think Tony had gone out of his way to do all of this for him. Of course, it was most likely just to accommodate the comic production process – definitely nothing personal. Yet, the idea was rather heart-warming.

Pocketing the note for no particular reason, he cracked open his new sketch pad and set straight to work.

\---

In the first month of illustrating for Stark Entertainment, Steve had learnt something fairly fundamental about his boss.

Mister Tony Stark had an unbridled habit of flirting – and not the subtle kind.

Every so often, Steve would catch the man chatting up someone in the hallway; be it one of his many investors, or a potential patron. (Gender never seemed to be an issue.) Though Steve never got close enough to actually  _ hear  _ said flirting, he could tell by the way the stranger would touch at Tony’s shoulder, or giggle at something the man had said. And, of course, Tony’s demeanour was a dead giveaway. That playboy smirk. Those long-held gazes.

Yup. Tony loved to flirt. Just… not with Steve.

It shouldn’t have bothered him as much as it did, but every time Tony came by Steve’s studio, he kept a distance of at least three meters. There had been one occasion when Tony had leaned over Steve’s shoulder to take a closer look at the poster he was working on – and another when Tony had taken a pen from him to jot down some notes, their hands brushing for a brief moment. Other than that, they remained impersonal. 

Not that Steve was hoping for anything. After all; why should he? Their relationship was  _ meant  _ to be professional. And yet, the fact Stark seemed so comfortable around all of his  _ other  _ associates besides him did strike a nerve.

“What’s your verdict, Cap’?” he heard Tony say.

Steve blinked, his brow shooting up. Apparently, he’d zoned out during one of Tony’s plot-line ramblings. “Oh… uhm…”

“Oh shit, am I talking to myself again?” Tony said, his tone sodden with sarcasm. “Wasn’t aware my artist had been replaced with a plastic decoy. Then again, there’s not much difference between the two.”

Instead of flirting, Steve got snark.  _ A lot _ of snark. It was slowly but surely wearing down on his patience.  _ Well, two can play at that game. _

“Y’know,” Steve said, twirling his pencil between his fingertips, “I’m thinking Iron Man would probably get his ass handed to him against Captain America.”

Tony’s entire body visibly stiffened, turning to face Steve with a callous gaze. “Excuse me?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders, keeping a teasing smirk. “Um, hello? Nazi-killing, genetically altered superhuman versus a guy in a tin can?”

“Um,  _ hello _ ,” Tony shot back, “certified genius, billionaire, industrialist versus a guy on dramatised steroids.”

Steve stood from his work station, as if to make his point. “Brains don’t always win against brawn, Tony.”

“No, but it could certainly win against an old-fashioned piece of propaganda in a suit.” Tony walked a little closer to him, closing the gap to two meters. “Repulsors, lasers, micro-guns – against what, a shield? The hell’s that thing even made of anyway? Plastic?”

“Even if it  _ was  _ plastic,” Steve said, moving closer by another meter, “a real hero doesn’t need a shield to save the day.”

Tony was standing pretty close by now. Close enough for Steve to catch the faint scent of his cologne; a cool and musky fragrance. Subtle yet pleasant. And, of course, Steve couldn’t resist observing every detail; from Tony’s warm-toned eyes to the texture of his skin. He really was handsome. Perhaps if he stared a little longer, he could draw the man from memory.  _ That would be nice. _

Before Tony could add any further quips, his phone began to buzz in his pocket.

As if being dragged back to reality, Tony paced back beyond three meters, fishing his phone out.

“Shit… I gotta’ take this,” he said, already making his way towards the door. “This conversation’s not over, Rogers.”

Steve scoffed, watching as the man left him alone in his studio. He almost wished he’d stayed – even if just to finish their little debate. He found Tony to be quite the intreaguing man. Someone who fueled his interest, both creatively and intelectually. 

He hoped that, one day, Tony might consider him a friend, rather than a subordinate.

\---

Truth was, Tony really didn’t know how to feel about Steve. 

The man was persistent, cocky, charming, and well-mannered; all rolled into one obnoxiously handsome individual. Of course, the most outrageous part was that Steve seemed completely oblivious. He did  _ know  _ he was attractive, right? Surely, he couldn’t be  _ that  _ thick-skulled.

The worst part about it was that Tony was finding it hard to keep his guard up. Steve had a tendency to make him feel nervous for no given reason. Just having him in the same room made his skin grow embarassingly warm.  _ God… why’d the bastard have to be so damn hot. _

Bisexual tendencies aside, it just really wasn’t fair.

“Morning, Tony,” Steve sauntered into the man’s office, a cup of coffee in one hand and a leather portfolio in the other. “I got those promo-posters you asked--”

“Vibranium,” Tony said, running a hand over his face. “If the shield was made of Vibrainium then maybe –  _ maybe  _ – Captain America would stand a chance against Iron Man.”

Steve cocked a brow, his lips fashioning a grin. “You don’t say.”

“But, obviously, vibranium only exists in  _ my  _ comic universe. So, by process of elimination, looks like Mister America’s still fighting with plastic.”

“Who  _ says  _ vibranium doesn’t exist in my universe?”

Tony stood from his desk. “My trademark and copyright team, dumbass.” Steve chuckled beneath his breath, choosing to place his portfolio down onto the table. “Show me what you got, Cap’.”

Steve opened up the files, pulling out a set of three posters and laying them flat out on Tony’s desk. “Nat told me to keep it simple, and I tried that. But… well, it didn’t really go to plan. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Do I look like I’m complaining?” Tony said, leaning over his desk to take a closer look at the posters. Yup. Steve never failed to amaze.

Every detail was exactly as he’d requested. The words from Tony’s novels had wholeheartedly been captured in just three sheets of paper. Bold colours, bursting with vibrance. Iron Man in the forefront with audacious pride, armour gleaming upon the page. Falcon’s action-pose was particularly impressive – his mechanical wings spread wide enough to see inklings of rust tarnishing the silver.

Every Avenger, from Hawkeye to Scarlet Witch, had been crafted with such care and precision. Life itself seemed to breathe through their images.

And yet, for the first time since the comic initiative went underway, Tony couldn’t help but feel like there was something…  _ missing. _

“You don’t like it,” Steve said, heaviness kindling in his throat.

“What? No-- it’s a masterpiece.” Tony hovered his hands over the posters, fearing Steve would take them away from him. “I just… I’m thinking.”

For a moment, there was silence. Thick, terrifyingly shrill silence. Silence beyond Tony’s somewhat unsettled breathing. Worry broiled in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like being unsure of himself. Especially when matters concerned the very world he’d created. 

Steve cautiously placed his fingertips upon one of the posters. “Tony,” he said firmly, not breaking eye-contact for even a moment. That alone was enough to make him feel uneasy. “If there’s a problem with the posters, then please, let me fix--”

“You really gotta’ work on your people skills, Cap’,” Tony said, attempting to escape the conversation by manovering around the desk. “‘Specially if you’re thinking of sticking around.”

“What’s _ that  _ supposed to mean?” Steve said, his aggitation beginning to grate on his voice.

“It means quit it with the Fix-it-Felix mentality.” Tony paced over towards the corkboard stationed on the far end of his office; pretending to look over the notes pinned to its surface. Anything to escape that man’s pestering. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it. If I figure it out, I’ll let you know.”

Steve lingered for a moment, clearly not buying his offhanded attitude. Tony scoffed to himself. Empty-headed as Rogers might be, he sure was observant. Frankly, Tony couldn’t tell if he admired or despised him for it.

“Fine,” Steve huffed, resigning to his defeat. “I’m gonna’ get back to work. If you need me, I’ll be in the studio.”

Tony didn’t turn as he left; listening to his heavy footsteps, and the slam of the office door.  _ God… get your shit together, Stark. _

\---

“I dunno’ about this, Tony,” Steve muttered, attempting to straighten his tie.

The two were sat in the back seat of an Audi, Happy behind the wheel to drop them off at  _ ‘Heroes Weekly HQ’ _ .

“Relax,” Tony said, temporarily looking up from his phone to spare a glance at his illustrator. Steve was wearing a slim-fit suit – finely crafted and custom made specifically for this occasion. No way in hell was Tony about to let the man wear  _ jeans  _ again. Admiring his designer’s handiwork, Tony smirked. “You look hot. Chicks’ll dig it.”

Steve gave a wavering laugh. “Not what I was worried about. But thanks anyway.”

Tony hummed. He figured Steve wouldn’t be the type to enjoy the limelight as much as he personally did. “Don’t think about it. I’ll do most of the talking. All you gotta’ do is sit next to me and look pretty for a couple hours.”  _ Which shouldn’t be too difficult for you, considering… nah, can’t say that. _

Steve nodded, his fingertips drumming erratically upon his knees. First-time nerves. There’s a shocker. “Can’t you just… do this whole televised stuff on your own?”

“Wish I could, Cap’ – but it’s not all about me. At least, not today it isn’t. The people wanna’ know the man behind the pencil.”

“Gentlemen,” Happy said as he pulled the car up to the side of the road, “we’re here.”

“Thanks, Hap’.”

“Break a leg, Rogers,” he added. “Not literally, obviously but-- you get what I mean.”

Steve managed a brief, but believable smile. “Thanks, Happy.”

The two made their way out of the car, stepping into a swarm of literary press gathered at the base of a towering glass building. Even with the gaudy brawling of reporters restricting their movements, Tony made sure to keep his eye on Steve. Pushing their way past the crowd, they eventually made it to the doors – Steve breathing a sigh of relief as security urged the reporters back.

“Holy…”

Tony snickered, watching Steve’s jaw drop as they walked through the lobby. Thick alabaster floors lined with a velvet rug. Glass elevators stretching far beyond the sky. High walls adorning colossal-sized posters of the world’s mightiest Superheroes. 

Tony attempted to keep a smile off his face as they passed a piece of hanging art that was all too familiar. “Like it? I had Pepper send in a copy three days ago. Pretty good, right?"

Steve lingered in front of his own piece of art; absolutely speechless. He had to crane his neck back to see the whole poster. It wasn’t even one of the official Avenger prints – but a graphic design of Iron Man he’d done only a few weeks ago. Drawn in his armoured glory, with Steve’s signature etched to the bottom right corner.

Even Tony had to admit, it was damn-well spectacular.

“Oh my God,” Steve choked beneath his breath. “That’s… that's --”

“Mister Stark, Sir!” A loud, vaguely familiar voice called from across the lobby. Tony turned his head, brow shooting up as none other than Peter Parker came jogging towards him. “It’s so good to see you again, Sir! You look awesome – you remember me, right? From Comic-Con? It’s cool if you don’t though, I--”

“Good to see you too kid,” Tony said before turning to Steve. “Rogers, meet Peter Parker. Reporter-in-training, as it were.”

Steve took a second to gather his composure, but once he did, his charming smile returned. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Parker.” He offered a handshake, which Peter took up in frenzied enthusiasm.

“Oh, the honour’s all mine, Sir. I’m a huge, huge, HUGE fan of your work. Your prints are phenomenal; honestly, I can’t begin to--”

Tony cleared his throat, hoping the kid would get the message.

With a nervous chuckle, Peter nodded his head. “Right, right, sorry. Uhm, I’ll be taking you guys up to meet Mister Lang. He’ll be hosting your interview today.”

With that, the three made their way into the nearest elevator.

As they ascended towards the sixty-seventh storey, Tony noticed Steve tapping his foot upon the floor; eyes darting from place to place. God, he really was nervous, wasn’t he? With a soft sigh, Tony attempted to take the man’s mind off of things.

“Pretty sweet building, amirite? Designed by Hank Pym himself.”

Steve cocked his head curiously. “Hank Pym… sounds familiar.”

“CEO of Heroes Weekly. Or was, until fairly recently. Early retirement, so I’ve heard. Now it’s run by this other guy – Darren Cross, I think it was.”

Peter scoffed, muttering beneath his breath, “He’s a dick...”

Steve and Tony stared at him, both staggered and slightly uncomfortable. The kid glanced between the two, before breaking the silence with an anxious laugh.

“I… meant that in a nice way. Don’t tell him I said that… please – I wanna’ keep my internship.”

Eventually, they made it to the production floor. A bustling mess of tech-crew and stage management; all rushing to get things set up for the interview. By the centre was a plush leather sofa, positioned in front of three electronic screens displaying the Avengers promo-posters. Harsh white ring lights and cameras haloed the set in perfect consonance. 

“Now or never, Cap’.”

Steve took a deep breath, nodding his head. “Now or never.”

\---

Stage-fright aside, Steve was doing surprisingly well. Tony figured he would – considering how likeable he always seemed to come across. It also helped that Scott Lang (disregarding the coffee jitters) was extremely accommodating. 

The three of them sat upon the sofa, with Steve and Tony on the right side, and Scott on the left. Every so often, Tony would spare Steve a quick glance. Luckily, the man seemed to be adjusting just fine.

“But seriously,” Scott said, “I can’t stress how hyped I am for this release. I mean, the Stark series has been iconic for decades – to bring it to life is just…  _ incredible. _ ”

“Well,” Steve slapped a hand to Tony’s shoulder, causing him to flinch a little. “We got this man right here to thank for most of it.”

Tony pulled a smirk. “True. Not like drawing actually takes any skill, right?”

The gentlemen laughed amongst themselves, with Scott momentarily putting his forehead in his hand. Tony recalled the man once being an illustrator himself, before jumping into the world of corporate marketing. “You guys met at Comic-Con, right? I mean, I’ve heard the recruitment story, but it just seems so surreal. And that’s coming from a guy who talks about Superheroes for a living.”

“No, genuinely,” Tony fondly recalled the moment he’d first seen Steve’s artwork, “I was on my way to a panel when I saw a couple guys carrying one of his pieces to the plaza. It just jumped at me. Like,  _ ‘if I’m gonna’ trust some bozo with my characters, it might as well be this loser’ _ .”

He heard Steve’s warm chuckle, and felt the man’s eyes upon him. Sincere and amiable. Was Tony blushing? God, he hoped not.

“Well,” Scott said, grinning, “I don’t exactly blame you. Steve, you’re incredibly talented. I mean…” He gestured towards the screens behind them. “Just  _ look _ at that. How’d you even  _ do _ that?”

Tony and Steve both turned to admire the Avengers posters on the screens. Steve smiled. “Well… Tony’s vision for the comics really did inspire me to work overtime. I think the Avengers initiative has really brought the best out of my work.”

“Not to say your work wasn’t impressive  _ before  _ the Avengers,” Scott added.

At his words, the middle-screen began to change. The display faded from the poster, to a print of Captain America – one of Steve’s older works. A full-length action pose of the Hero wielding his shield, staring boldly from his canvas with pure strength smouldering in his gaze. 

Tony felt his mouth go dry, his heart stuttering in his chest. Sandwiched between the Avengers posters, Captain America looked so powerful. So commanding. What’s more, Steve’s art-style blended the three images together almost seamlessly. Almost perfectly. Almost as if… he was  _ born  _ to be there.

_ That’s it. That’s what’s missing. _

“I think what the long-term fans want to know,” Scott went on, “is who Captain America actually is.”

Steve cleared his throat, bashfully scratching the back of his neck. “Well, to be honest, I haven’t exactly figured that--”

“Genetically altered American soldier, who fought against Nazi Germany in the later years of the second world war.” Tony felt Steve’s eyes on him again – only this time, it wasn’t as friendly. “The Cap’n was altered by means of a Super Soldier Serum; giving him his enhanced strength, speed, agility – etcetera. During his service, he was given a vibranium shield that served as his--”

“Wait, wait, wait – hold the phone,” Scott said, almost jumping out of his seat. “Vibranium? So, you’re saying Captain America exists within the Stark Universe?”

Tony felt his heart hammer against his ribs. He couldn’t bear to look at Steve. He didn’t want to know what he was thinking, or feeling. Selfish as it may have been – possibly even character theft – the pieces just seemed to fall into place. Inside his rapidly firing brain, the picture felt so complete. With this single piece added to the puzzle... it was simply  _ too perfect _ .

“More than that,” Tony said with a wavering smile. “He’s an Avenger.”


	4. The First Avenger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to say a quick thank you for reading up to this far!   
> I really appreciate the support, and it genuinely does mean a lot to me :3
> 
> This ones a short chapter – hope you don't mind ^^
> 
> Was originally intended to be longer – but the next scene just stretched the word-count way too much. So it'll be featured in the next instalment :D 
> 
> Enjoy!!

Yup. He was pissed.

Not the typical testosterone-poisoned, blistering rage kind of pissed. More like the…  _ I’m very disappointed in you,  _ kind of pissed. Frankly, Tony didn’t know which one was worse.

The two sat in the car in cold, sharp silence. Steve hadn’t said a word since the interview ended, staring pensively from the window as Happy drove them back to Stark Tower. Every so often, Tony would catch Steve clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth. He tried to read the expression on his face – yet found nothing but a porcelain facade.

Growing anxious, he cleared his throat. “Y’know, I was thinking cryogenic freezing. 20th-century Supersoldier goes on a mission, crashlands in the Arctic, and gets turned into a cryogenically preserved Capsicle. Blast forward to the 21st century, and boom. We have an Avenger.”

Steve doesn’t make any effort to respond, continuing to stare at a flickering traffic-light just beyond the blacked-out windows.

Tony swallowed the lump in his throat, sighing through his nostrils.  _ Time to turn on that rusty speech filter.  _ “Not that it matters what I think, obviously. After all, it’s up to you what you do with--”

“You could have at least told me.” Steve turned towards Tony, his eyes stern but not intimidating. A slight graininess to his tone. Like he was deliberately trying to keep a steady hand on his temper. “Captain America’s my character, Stark. You can’t just… take what you want, and use it as you like.”

“Okay, in my defence, I would have told you – but I only figured it out about...” Tony checked the designer watch wrapped around his wrist. “Twenty-six minutes ago.”

Steve furrowed his brow, eyes fluttering. “You’re saying all that stuff you said on the couch… that was on the spot?”

“I got the IQ equivalent to that of a certified genius,” Tony muttered, “It’s kind of what I do.” Steve scoffed, bitterness in his expression as he turned his head back towards the window. Tony wondered if his speech filter was  _ actually _ even doing anything. “Of course, it doesn’t exactly pair well with the whole… impulsive creativity thing I got going on. But hey, what’s a guy to do?”

“An apology would have sufficed, Tony.” 

“Apologise for what? Making your shell of a character more interesting? Pretty sure I did you a favour.”

Steve’s large hands formed fists at his sides, his knuckles turning pale. “Forget it, buddy.”

_ Ouch.  _ Nope. Filter’s definitely broken.

“Alright, listen,” Tony said, taking a deep breath while simultaneously trying to gather his thoughts. “As ingenious as my idea may have been, I admit, the way I went about it was less than appropriate. And for that, I apologise. Furthermore, I don’t want this to become a legal issue. If you don’t want to share Captain America’s infringement rights, then I can ask Scott to edit out the--”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve cut in – causing Tony to flinch. “The infringement rights. I’ll think about it.”

Tony grimaced, turning his head before screwing his eyes shut.

_ Shit. _

\---

_ Goddammit, Stark. _

It’d been exactly three days since the Heroes Weekly incident. Steve sat alone in his studio, attempting (and failing) to finish a draft while simultaneously reminding himself to mellow his frustration.

In trying to concentrate on his work, his pencil-lead snapped against the paper. This was hopeless.

He had half a mind to walk out on the entire project; what with that irksome stunt Tony had pulled.

And yet, the other half gave him a myriad of reasons as to why that was a bad idea. First off, Steve Rogers was a multitude of reckless things – but one thing he was  _ not _ , and never would be, was a quitter. Secondly, he’d fallen hopelessly in love with his job; adoring every moment he spent drawing the Avengers. To give that up didn’t feel like a valid option.

And thirdly, which he somewhat despised, he considered the fact that perhaps he was overreacting. After all, Tony’s origin for Captain America was solid. Fresh. Believable. Somehow, the man had made Captain America into a  _ character  _ instead of just a concept. Something Steve had spent years trying to do, yet never succeeding. In spite of how much he wanted to deny it, Stark’s vision was brilliant.

Blood beginning to simmer, Steve dropped his pencil, letting his hands card through his hair.  _ Maybe I’m thinking about this all wrong. _

Tony had entrusted him with bringing the Avengers to life. He’d placed the fate of his characters in the palm of Steve’s hand. Or rather, he’d  _ shared  _ it between their hands. Should one of them fall, the whole project was lost. 

Distant and aloof as Tony always was, he’d opened up just enough for Steve to lift him higher. Perhaps, allowing Tony to do the same for  _ his _ characters wouldn’t be such a bad idea...

Drawing out a fresh slide of paper, Steve fished up his pencil once more – a spur of inspiration buzzing through his bloodstream.

_ Okay… maybe….just maybe…  _

\---

Tony had expected a resignation letter from Steve within the week. He’d already begun mentally preparing himself for it; main coping mechanism being his favourite brand of bourbon whiskey.

Frankly, he could no longer distinguish his worry from his terror. The thought of his passion project collapsing in on itself in Steve’s absence was something he couldn’t bear to think about – and yet, it seemed so inevitable. 

Which was why, when Steve rocked up to the front of his desk carrying nothing but a single sheet of paper, Tony assumed the worst.

“Can we talk?” Steve asked, his voice surprisingly calm.

“Are you resigning?” Tony asked, his palm still nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey. “And before you answer that, how much would it cost for you to stay? I’m thinking 54k as a starting point. But, let’s be honest, my margins aren’t exactly narrow. How ‘bout this – you name your price and I’ll graciously double it.”

Steve’s brow quirked up, the corner of his lip teasing the slightest smirk. “You really  _ that _ desperate, Stark?”

“I wouldn’t call it desperation. More like a time preservation tactic. Simply put, if you were to resign right now, I’d have a hard time finding a replacement. Could take weeks – months even--”

“Pretty sure there are thousands of artists living in New York willing to work for you.”

“Yes, but none of them are gonna’ have your skill-set. Trust me, I know. I had Pepper run the numbers.”

Steve hummed, his smile turning cocky. “So what you’re saying is, you need me.”

_ Jesus Christ.  _ “Never said that. But I also humbly reject the statement that I wouldn’t be… greatly disappointed… if you left.”

Steve’s expression softened to something warm and soothing. “Well, you’re in luck. I’m not here to resign.”

“... Then why  _ are  _ you here?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “To apologise for reacting in the way I did. It was crude and unprofessional of me.”

Tony blinked his eyes. _ Oh…  _ Well, that’s… surprising.

“Having said that, I don’t expect to take all the blame here. If we’re going to collaborate on this project together, then I need to know you’re on my team. And that means no more surprises. No more making decisions without me, no more impulsive behaviour. Got it?”

Tony ran his palm over his jaw, his brain functioning at half its usual capacity. Whether that was Steve or the alcohol’s doing was anybody’s guess. “... When you say ‘ _ collaborate’ _ , you mean…”

Steve placed the paper in his hands down onto the tabletop, turning the document to face Tony. “He’s all yours. With my regulation, of course. And, I expect full credit.”

Tony felt the air turn to ash in his lungs as he read through the document.

_ ‘To whom it may concern: this letter states that {Mr. Steven Grant Rogers} has given legal permission to {Mr. Anthony Edward Stark} to use the copyrighted source-material concerning {Captain America}, on the grounds that the original creator receives full credit for its origin – as well as a collaborative stance in any product made from it.’ _

Tony’s fingertips quivered upon his desk. “You’re seriously giving me this?” he said, voice a little breathy. 

“You did good by Captain America. So long as you keep it that way, then…” Steve chuckled softly. “Actually, the thought of him being an Avenger’s pretty damn sweet.  _ ‘Cap’n America – the first Avenger.’ _ Sorta’ just rolls off the tongue.”

“Steve,” Tony said, despite his own words failing him. The pure joy blossoming in his chest mingled with his feverish awe and excitement – making it harder to concentrate. “Shit...uh…”

“Oh, almost forgot.” Steve dug into his coat pocket – plucking out a folded up piece of sketchbook paper; slightly crumpled and tattered at the edges. He placed it down on the table with a smile. “Doodled this a couple days ago.  _ You _ might consider it a draft.”

His playful tone was a good sign. Tony couldn’t help but hold his breath as he fished up the paper – cautiously unfolding it in his hands.

It was not a drawing of all the Avengers together as Tony had expected. Instead, he saw a graphite sketch of Ironman – with Captain America standing directly at his side; handsome and proud. The characters complemented each other’s presence in such magnificent harmony; Captain America’s commanding presence balanced by Iron Man’s finesse.

Tony choked. He hadn’t thought it possible. He’d always seen Iron Man as this pinnacle of Superhero perfection. And yet, placed beside the Captain, all seemed so redundant. Separately, they were strong. But together, they were  _ absolute _ . 

They were perfect. 

At the very bottom, Steve had written the words, ‘ _ Avengers: Assemble!’  _ in a brilliantly bold text. Tony liked that… a lot.

“I gotta’ get back to work. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

“Cap’,” Tony said, stopping the man just before he could reach for the door handle. Steve met his gaze with a good-natured smile, making Tony’s chest tighten a little. “... I won’t let you down.”

Steve glanced down at the floor, nodding his head with a knowing look. “And neither will I.”

\---

“133 spreads ready for scanning. Only…” Steve paused to yawn into the back of his hand. “... 432 to go.”

Tony muttered something incoherent beneath his breath, leaning against the edge of Steve’s work station. “It’s gettin’ late, Cap’. You best head home.”

“What? And let you pull an all-nighter all by yourself? Fat chance.” He could tell Tony was getting drowsy by the way his eyes kept drifting from place to place. The two of them had been stuck in Steve’s studio, trying to run the debut comic’s final pages for the past eighteen hours. 

“I dunno’, Rogers”, Tony said, his words meshing into a slight slur.

_ Yup, he’s almost out of it. _

“Those eye-bags don’t look designer to me.”

Steve laughed, his fatigue making the joke seem a lot funnier than it actually was. Nevertheless, Tony seemed to appreciate it. “God, I think I’m going crazy.”

“Happens to the best of us.” Tony tried to manoeuvre around the station, only to walk into the paper basket just beside it. Steve barely managed to smother his laughter, relishing in the slight blush creeping up the man’s neck.

When Tony wasn’t being a  _ complete _ egotistical maniac, Steve actually thought him quite wonderful. Subjectively speaking, he was handsome – nice to look at. His mannerisms, though eccentric, were charming and full of wit.

But what he liked most was when he got to see Tony Stark – the man made famous by his intelligence and narcissism – smile down at one of their collaboration pieces with such profound fondness, that it sent butterflies fluttering through Steve’s chest.

That love. That passion for what they’d created. It was something so utterly pure that could not possibly be imitated.

“When’s the last time you slept, Tony?” Steve asked, noticing him staring at the window for a moment too long.

“What day is it?”

Not the answer he wanted to hear. “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

“I probably am. But it’s all cool. I brainstorm better with a mild concussion.”

Steve couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. Hopefully the latter, but with Tony’s deranged track-record, he somewhat doubted it. “You got a wife, Stark?”

“I’m married to my work,” he replied. “I’m also having a lovely little liaison with this pretty thing called whiskey.”

Steve scoffed, smiling down at his work station. “Right… I just figured if you had a significant other, she’d probably be missing you right about now. What with all the late-nighters.”

“Well,  _ you’re _ still here. And I refuse to believe someone with a face like yours could  _ possibly  _ still be single.”

Steve dropped his pencil, brow twitching up as his eyes locked with Tony’s. After a brief silence, he said with a smirk, “Did you just flirt with me?”

“That was not flirting,” Tony said, a little too fast to be considered natural. “At best it was office banter. At worst it was… me trying to compliment you.” Despite his apparent tiredness, Tony was now looking a little flustered. “... Don’t do that.”

_ Adorable.  _ “Do what?” Steve teased, an innocent grin spread across his cheeks. “If it’s any consolation, I’m flattered.”

“And _ I  _ need a goddamn drink.” Steve couldn’t hide his chuckle as Tony wandered towards the window – crossing his arms over his chest. There was a pause. “By the way, keep your schedule open for this coming Tuesday.”

“Why?”

“We got a birthday party to go to. Hank Pym’s, to be precise. Everyone who’s anyone in the sci-fi industry’s going to be there.”

Steve quirked his brow up, a sigh escaping his lips.  _ God _ , really? Another one of these formalities? The press-talks and interviews were bad enough as it was. Nevertheless, Mister Rogers was nothing if not resilient.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Do I gotta’ wear a suit?”


	5. Pencils

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/4 way through!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!

Turns out a birthday party hosted by the world’s biggest sci-fi nerds isn’t exactly a bad place to be. 

Hank Pym lived in a luxury beach house down on the coast of Malibu, obscure enough for him to live his retirement in peace, but wonderfully glamorous nonetheless. Steve stood beside Tony, surrounded by the bustling of a hundred like-minded people. Sci-fi journalists, fiction writers, illustrators, and animators. Faces Steve had seen a million times before, but never up close and in the flesh.

Beneath a thick musk of lavish wine and a live quartet, Steve let the moment sink in. If you’d told him three years prior that he’d be wearing a designer suit while sipping chardonnay with his creative idols, he’d have told you to get lost.

“Banner, get your ass over here,” Tony said, beckoning to a man in a pair of silver-framed spectacles. “Steve, this is Doctor Bruce Banner – Harvard University graduate, and my resident technobabble machine.” 

Bruce shook his head with a tired smile. “Tony’s plenty capable of conjuring his own technical jargon. I just do the fact-checking.”

“Huge pleasure to meet you, Doctor Banner,” Steve said, shaking the man’s hand. “I’m very familiar with your work. Really, it’s an honour.”

“Well, I’m flattered. And, of course, Tony’s told me all about you. I must say, your portfolio’s rather impressive.”

Natasha approached the three by the bar, her elegant fingertips wrapped around a tall glass of champagne. “You’re not boring another one of my clients to death, are you, Bruce?”

The group chuckled, even as the doctor’s face began to redden. “Hardy-har, Nat.”

“Speaking of hardy-hars,” Tony interjected, “Romanoff, on your twelve.”

The group turned their heads towards the far end of the room; where Clint Barton, a popular journalist and art dealer for the _ ‘Waverly Post’ _ , was standing on a coffee table surrounded by a giggling crowd – holding what appeared to be a pair of metal darts.

Natasha hissed sharply. “God, what’s that idiot up to now?”

Across the room, hanging just beneath the Pym family photo, was a picture of someone’s face pinned crudely to a dart board. A face that looked suspiciously like Darren Cross.

Three blinks later, and the darts were sent flying through the air. The guests grew wild with applause as they pierced straight through Darren’s forehead, nose, and left eye.

“Sure hope Mister Cross wasn’t invited,” Bruce muttered beneath his breath.

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Gotta’ admire the man for his aim, though.”

Tony gave a soft, “Meh,” cocking his head. “Lucky shot if you ask me.”

Natasha snickered before downing the rest of her drink in one impressive gulp. With a hum of satisfaction, she handed her empty glass to Bruce. “I better get over there before the loser breaks something.”

“Godspeed, Nat,” Steve said – laughing as she dropped him a playful wink.

Once Natasha had taken off to tend to her rowdy associate, and Bruce had returned to rambling at a near-by Scott Lang about his recent quantum mechanics essay, Tony turned towards Steve with charm in his gaze.

He looked particularly wonderful this evening. Granted, Steve found himself thinking so more often than not. He was wearing a new suit and set of sunglasses (because Lord knows, Tony will never be seen wearing the same outfit twice.) His hair was neatly styled, and his smile was something deviously delightful.

“You holding up, Cap’?”

Steve responded with a confident nod. “Better than expected, all things considered.”

“Good... ‘cuz I gotta’ go do some solo mingling. Social formalities; you know how it is.” He gave Steve a firm pat to the shoulder. “You can survive on your own for a bit, right?”

Steve tensed a little. “Uhm--”

“Feel free to entertain yourself, try not to talk to anyone too important while I’m gone.” And with that, Tony was already making his way over to a pair of coquettish young women – a pair that’d been eying him up for the past thirty minutes. 

Steve watched with irritation poisoning his composure as the girls clung to Tony’s arms with giggles fluttering from their lips, leading him towards the other side of the party.  _ Did Stark really just abandon me for a couple of floozies?  _

Suddenly feeling out of place, Steve sat himself down at the bar. Of course, he only had a few moments to wallow in his solitude, before the empty seat beside him was taken up.

“Well, if it isn’t Steven Rogers in the flesh,” a wheezily man’s voice said. Steve turned to see a stranger, dressed in grey while sporting a horrendous fake tan – eyes framed by a pair of glasses. “We meet at last.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I’m sorry, should I know you?”

The man forced out a laugh – too loud and obnoxious for comfort. “Funny guy, aren’t you? Does the name Hammer ring any bells?” When he was met with Steve’s blank expression, the man gave in. “Justin Hammer? I’m the CEO of Hammer Entertainment?”

“Oh.” Steve hid his disinterest behind a polite smile. “Well, it’s… nice to meet you, Sir.”

“Mind if we chat for a second?”

_ Don’t say it, Rogers. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say--  _ “Well, I’ve been asked not to talk to anyone too important. So sure, why not?”

_Dammit._ Tony’s humour must have been rubbing off on him. Nevertheless, Steve couldn’t help chuckling at his own stupid joke.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me.”

The corner of Justin’s eye twitched. He gave a timid snicker. “Funny… real funny.” After a moment of stiff silence, Steve considered excusing himself to the bathroom. Anything to escape this awkward situation. That was until Justin said, “I wanted to ask you about your work. You’re a pretty talented artist, from what I’ve seen anyways.”

“Thank you, Sir. That’s very kind of you.”

“In fact, I reckon you could be doing a hell of a lot more with your career. Ever considered branching into the world of animation?”

_ Ah. So that’s what this is about.  _ “Not really, no.”

Justin shrugged his shoulders, his thin lips pulling a smile. “Well, you  _ should _ . Hell, animation’s an up-and-coming field, my man! I mean, we’ve only  _ just  _ started hosting cartoons on the Hammer Network, and our finances have shot through the--”

“With all due respect, Mister Hammer, I don’t plan on jumping out of my illustrative position any time soon. I’ve got a perfectly good gig going on with Stark Entertainment.”

“Oh, yeah – sure. Definitely.” Justin sniffed, adjusting the knot of his tie. “Yeah, you and Tony sure are producing some impressive work. Shame the position’s only temporary, huh.”

Steve blinked his eyes with a frown. “... Excuse me?”

Mister Hammer shrugged his shoulders. “Well, what’d you think Tony Stark’s gonna’ do with you after the comics get published? Not to sound crude, but… kinda’ looks like the end of the line for your partnership, buddy.”

Steve felt a pang in the centre of his chest. That… wasn’t true, was it? Tony  _ wouldn’t _ just forget about him after the project was over. He couldn’t. 

Then again, it’s not like Tony had much reason to keep him in his employment. After the Avengers comics were wrapped up, he could very easily return to writing his sci-fi novels. Steve would become obsolete. He would…

Tony wouldn’t need him anymore.

“See the great thing about the Hammer Network, Steven,” Justin went on, “is that it’s a permanent placement. New Superhero cartoons every week – non-stop creative juices flowing, if you know what I’m saying.” 

Steve nodded along as if he was still listening. “Yeah… sure.”

If Tony really did decide to go back to writing novels, instead of producing comics… where would that leave Steve? Would he go back to being lost? Creatively incapacitated?

More importantly… what would happen to the Avengers?

Surely Tony wouldn’t do that to them. Surely…

“Excuse me, Mister Hammer?” A young woman, in a clear British tone, said as she approached – calm and collected. “I believe there’s a pair of ladies on the upper balcony asking for you. Said something about a Tesla, two bottles of vodka, and--”

“Say no more.” Justin was up and out of his seat in a blink. “Good talk, Rogers. Hey, have a think about my offer!” And with that, the man was weaving himself out into the party crowd.

Steve turned towards the young woman; a pretty brown-eyed brunette with long lashes and an elegant smile. A smile he returned. “Thanks.”

“You seemed like you needed saving,” she said. “Peggy Carter, London Journalist.” She offered him her hand, to which he took gratefully. “Mind if I sit here?”

\---

“Where the damn hell’s that old man anyway?” Tony muttered behind a glass of wine. “Feel like I’ve spoken to every rusted bolt in this joint, ‘cept for the birthday boy.”

Rhodey gave a hearty chuckle. “He’s probably avoiding  _ you _ . Y’know, considering he’s still got that grudge against your dad.”

Tony pulled a face. “Guy needs to learn to let stuff go.”

“Like  _ you _ can talk.”

“Watch the sass, Rhodes. I’m about one drink away from hyper megalomania.”

“Pretty sure your  _ natural  _ state is hyper megalomania.”

Before Tony could retort, a woman in a tight red dress with blonde hair and caramel-scented skin ran her dainty hand up his arm. “Hey, Tony,” she chimed flirtatiously. 

Tony gave her the once-over, noticing her designer shoes and pearl necklace. Rich, and yet he was 90% certain they weren’t acquainted. A stranger, who knew him by name, was  _ definitely  _ not a face in the industry, and somehow managed to get into Hank Pym’s birthday party. Huh.

_ Gold-digger? Gold-digger.  _

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, humouring her for a moment. “If you’re looking for an ATM machine, pretty sure Justin Hammer went _ that  _ way. Though, I’d be careful drawing from him. Last I checked, Hammer’s stocks were worth less than a cap-full of kettle corn.”

Rhodey pulled his lips between his teeth to swallow his chuckles. Clearing his throat, he said, “As you can see, Mister Stark’s not exactly in a chatting mood.”

The woman rolled her eyes, strutting back off into the crowd.

As soon as she was out of sight, Rhodey gave a disapproving tut. “D’ya have to do that, Tony?”

He replied with a lazy grin, downing the rest of his wine before glancing towards the bar.

Through the haze of passing guests, he caught sight of Steve chatting away with Miss Carter – apparently discussing something  _ tremendously  _ hilarious, judging by the way the pair were chuckling amongst themselves.

“Looks like they’re hittin’ it off,” Rhodey remarked. “Good call sending her over there.”

“Yeah well... better her than Justin-fucking-Hammer.” 

Still… they looked good together. Steve and Peggy. Probably would make a formidable couple, given the chance. Two beautiful, head-strong individuals with a taste for the creative arts. Who knows? Maybe this would be the beginning of a charming little relationship.

The thought kind of made Tony regret sending her over.

_ Wait… what?  _

Tony placed a hand to the centre of his chest, feeling his heart beating hard and fast against his ribs. Glancing over to Steve once more, a nervousness began to coil in his stomach. Butterflies fluttering up from his chest to his throat. 

“You okay, man?” Rhodey asked, concern in his tone.

Tony swallowed. “Yeah, always.”

“Sure? Because you’re looking a little pale.”

He moved to take a drink from his glass before realising it was empty.  _ Fuck.  _ “Yeah, just… gonna’ head to the balcony for some air. Don’t wait up.”

He handed Rhodey his empty glass, quietly weaving his way through the crowds. Someone or other called his name along the way, but he could barely hear them over his lurid thoughts scrambling to make some sense over his emotions. 

_ God.  _ Out of all the people Tony had to develop an infatuation for, why’d it have to be Steve? And furthermore, why was he acting like such a child about it? It wasn’t as if he’d never taken fancy to people in the office before. (Pepper was a prime example; until she started getting on his case about every little thing he did.)

But with Steve, it felt… different. Like Tony’s heart was going to explode every time he met his eyes, or saw his smile. And suddenly, he felt like a teenager all over again. Hiding in the hallways to avoid bumping into his crush.

_ This is some grade-A horse shit. _

Escaping onto the balcony overlooking Malibu’s beachside, Tony tried to calm himself beneath the moonlight’s glaze – watching as it glistened upon the glassy sea. The fresh air certainly helped; as did the quiet. With all the guests still mingling inside, Tony found himself alone in the peace.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this. So emotionally disorientated. Helpless.

As much as he wanted to blame Steve for his troubles, he knew that this was all on him. And that hurt like a bitch. _ Rule one of business:  _ **_Don’t make it personal._ ** That’s what his father had always told him. And, judging by the heaviness in his chest, he was _ really _ pushing the line.

Whatever. It was only a harmless crush. Not like Tony actually had any intention to pursue something like that. Steve was probably straight, anyways. He’ll settle for someone like Miss Carter, have a couple kids, maybe even adopt a dog? He seemed like a dog person. 

Tony cleared his throat, rubbing the front of his chest. Wow. His heart was actually starting to ache a little. 

\---

The flight from Malibu back to New York was… strangely awkward.

Of course, Steve had first noticed it when Tony didn’t even bother to look him in the eye when he picked him up from the Hotel. Even on the way to the airport, Tony kept pretending to check his phone – scrolling through work emails he’d already read.

Was he mad at him?

When they finally got onto the private jet, Tony chose to sit by himself, instead of opposite Steve. Whenever Steve tried to make conversation, the man would answer in short hums or three-syllable responses. Throughout the flight, he kept his eyes glued to his laptop – all the while hiding behind his sunglasses.

Three hours in, and it was really starting to wear down on Steve’s patience.

What Justin had discussed with him yesterday still played in the back of his mind. The thought that Tony would someday discard him like a used paper towel was irksome. Almost nauseating. And now with him basically ignoring his very existence…

Nope. This won’t do.

Steve dug into his rucksack, pulling out one of his old sketch-pads and a blunt HB pencil. Without a word, he moved to where Tony was sitting, planting himself directly opposite the man. 

“I’m working, Rogers,” Tony said between his teeth.

“So am I,” Steve said back, as calm as he could bring himself to be. Flipping open his sketchbook, he turned a blank page – looking towards Tony. There was definitely something on the man’s mind. He could tell by the way Tony’s brow would twitch every now and again. As much as he wanted to press him on the subject, he didn’t want to draw a deeper wedge between them.

Instead, he went about sketching the outline of Tony’s features – drawing from the shoulders up. He didn’t have to glance up from his page all too many times. (Frankly – though he refused to admit it – Steve had stared at Tony on enough accounts to know the basic details of his face by memory.)

A few minutes passed by, and Tony seemed to get suspicious. It was only when Steve muttered, “Can you take off your sunglasses for a sec’?” that he really caught on.

“Are you seriously drawing  _ me  _ right now?”

“Uh-huh.” Steve didn’t look up from his page, still busy with trying to fill in his sketch. But he could imagine the look playing upon Tony’s expression. Irritation mixed with a hint of embarrassment, no doubt.

“... And, why the hell would you do that?”

When Steve did eventually look up, he saw Tony with his eyes glued to his laptop screen, but his fingers hovering over the keys. His attempts to be nonchalant were ruined by the colour rising from his neck, and the slight tensing of his jaw.

“Comic reference,” Steve said. “Practicing for when I gotta’ draw profile shots for the Avengers.” It technically wasn’t a lie.

Tony scoffed. “And you’re choosing to do that now?”

Steve didn’t think it required a response – so he resumed his sketching. For a moment, he considered the fact that Tony might not comply. But, after a few seconds of heavy contemplation, the man pulled his sunglasses from his face; tucking them away into his pocket.

Now that Steve could see Tony’s gorgeous brown eyes, it was much harder to look away.

Tony returned to his work, and Steve continued his sketch; wanting to capture every little detail. With an offhanded sigh, he said, “If I’ve upset you, it probably wasn’t intentional.”

Tony flinched in his chair, swallowing. “... If I was upset, your ass wouldn’t be on my jet, Rogers.”

“Well, you’ve been acting weird ever since the party. Clearly, I must have done  _ something  _ wrong.” 

Silence followed. A pang struck Steve’s chest as he realised just how distant Tony felt to him.  _ Why?  _

“Tony, please talk to me.” It came off a little desperate – Steve was well aware of that. But no way in hell was he letting his creative muse drift away from him. “What happened? What did I do to make you--”

“I’m trying to keep things professional for once in my goddamn life,” Tony said plainly. “So if you wouldn’t mind turning off that Good-cop attitude, I’d appreciate it.”

Steve’s chest tightened. “Didn’t think professionalism was your style, Stark. Considering you hired me at a comic-con booth.”

The man broke the hint of a smile. It disappeared just as fast. “Yeah, well… let’s just say, circumstances changed.”

Maybe Tony had finally realised that Steve’s art style wasn’t all that spectacular. That, in reality, he could very easily find another artist to replicate his work. That the project had the power to exist without Steve being there. 

His pencil lead snapped against the page.  _ Great. _

Well, now what? He didn’t even have a sharpener on him. Not that it mattered anymore. Everything Justin had told him was true. Tony didn’t value him, he only valued his work. And even that was simply material. One day, this euphoric phase of his life would come to pass. Tony would stop working with him. His art would become obsolete. His creative passion would dwindle into nothing, and it would all be absolutely––

“I have a predicament.” 

The statement caught Steve off-guard. He blinked his eyes up at Tony, realising the man was now staring out the window instead of at his laptop. “... Okay?”

“Kind of this emotional imbalance phase I got going on. Erratic serotonin levels, cognitive impairment... the usual stuff. It’s a pain in the ass, so if I seem a little off to you, try to get over it.”

“...Huh.” 

Steve thought about it for a moment.

Was Tony just… in a bad mood? Was that why he wasn’t talking to him?  _ I’ve been overreacting again, haven’t I… _

Twirling his broken pencil between his fingertips, he said, “Well, I’m always free to talk. If you need to get something off your chest, that is.”

Tony remained impassive for a moment, before clearing his throat. “Hypothetically speaking, if one of the Avengers – let’s go with Iron Man – had feelings for someone--  _ not  _ intense feelings just… mediocre… feelings; what would you say the best course of action would be?”

Steve drew a slight frown. “Are you saying you want to introduce an Iron Man love interest into the comics?”

“Not saying that.” Tony took a moment to compose himself. It seemed like this had been bothering him for some time. “I’m just saying, hypothetically, if such a person were to come into Iron Man’s life – how do you see that playing out?”

Steve thought about it for a moment, drumming the end of his pencil against his sketchbook. “Honest opinion? Feel like Iron Man’s a little too busy saving the world for romance. And, with that inflated ego of his, I’m not sure how well a love interest would pan out.”

The corner of Tony’s lip curled a little. “Fair enough.”

“... But, you never know. It depends how much he’d be willing to sacrifice for said-person.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure.”

The rest of the flight was spent in that same uncomfortable silence it’d started in. However, there was one instance when Tony noticed Steve fiddling with the tip of his broken pencil. Upon noticing, the man rolled his eyes, dug into his jacket pocket, and handed him a silver 2B mechanical pencil.

For some reason unbeknownst to himself, such a simple gesture had filled Steve’s chest with warmth. It gave him hope – reminded him that he was, in fact, overreacting again. Tony had said himself that no one had ever produced his vision before. No one except for Steve. 

That was the thing about Tony. Stubborn, aloof, chaotic, and arrogant – yet somehow still so genuine. He was kind and generous, all while pretending not to be. His spurs of erratic imagination always got Steve’s heart racing with excitement. There were thousands of businessmen in the world who cared only for money and marketing schemes. Yet, Tony was so much more. Something truly wonderful.

Twirling the mechanical pencil between his fingers, Steve smiled. His heart grew timid and excitable in his chest.

_ God… someone tell me I’m not totally crushing on my boss right now. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not 100% happy with this chapter, but I hope it was enjoyable nonetheless :3 It was sort of necessary for the plot, and no matter how many times I re-wrote it, it just didn't seem to pan out the way I hoped? Haha, oh well ~ Next chapter's a little better :)


	6. Cheeseburgers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6!!! :3
> 
> A quick disclaimer – I've been suffering from a pretty bad fever over the last few days, so my humble apologies if this chapter is a little lacklustre ;-;
> 
> Thanks a bunch ~ and I hope you enjoy! ^^

“You reckon Captain America could lift Mjolnir?” Steve asked half-heartedly from his work station.

Tony turned upon his heels, arching his brow at the man. Steve was staring intently at the half-drawn page in front of him; tapping his bottom lip with the tip of his pencil. The same pencil Tony had given him on the jet about a month ago. “Can’t say. Haven’t really thought about it.”

Steve hummed in vague acknowledgement, his frown woven with concentration. Tony had a hard time resisting the urge to smile. He always found watching that man think rather endearing.

“Do  _ you  _ think he could? Hypothetically speaking.”

“I… no… I don’t know… maybe?” Steve hissed between gritted teeth. “... Maybe not at first.”

Tony cocked his head to the side, humming softly. “Are you saying you want Captain America to go through a development whereby he  _ becomes _ worthy of lifting the hammer?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “I… yeah. Yeah, I think so.” He smirked down at the pages scattered in front of him. “I did sort of have an idea for a stand-off between Iron Man, Thor, and Captain America – if you’re interested.”

“It  _ would _ set the bar for power dynamics,” Tony muttered playfully. “Plus, who doesn’t love a good stand-off?”

“Do you reckon Thor’s lightning could super-charge the Iron Man suit?” 

Tony froze before turning his head towards Steve; slightly shocked. “Hold the phone, Cap’. Did you just come up with a  _ plot mechanic _ ? By yourself?” Steve raised his brow – as though he’d not even noticed it himself. “Wow. Consider me impressed.”

What was meant to sound a little condescending ended up becoming sincere as it left Tony’s lips. Steve nodded his head with a chuckle. “Guess your genius is kinda’ rubbing off on me.”

“Wouldn’t go that far.” The man laughed again. Unbeknownst to him, Tony was slowly becoming addicted to that sound of his laughter. So soft and warm.  _ Jesus Christ, stop _ . “At best, the monkey with a pencil’s finally learning how to think.”

“Hey. Do not underestimate the brain capacity of  _ this  _ monkey right here.”

Tony sighed through his nostrils, letting his head lull towards the floor in an effort to hide his smirk.  _ What a dork.  _ God, that man’s smile would be the end of him. Was it getting warm in here? Shit.

“So, listen,” Tony cleared his throat, “I was having a chat with PR, and it might take a hot minute to convince the investors to go all-in… but, after we wrap up phase one of the Avengers initiative, I was thinking… how’d you feel about doing a Captain America original series?”

Steve froze, his jaw hanging open in disbelief. “... You’re serious?”

Tony shrugged his shoulders. “Sure. If you’re interested.”

“Are you kidding me? Of course, I’m interested,” Steve’s expression lit up with the same fervent passion Tony always craved. It was certainly a sight to see.  

“Good. In which case, I’ll let the boys in Finance know about your next project. We can assemble a writing team for you to help out with the basics. ‘Course, you’ll have primary control over what goes in and out of the final product--”

“Wait, wait… writing team?” Steve’s voice trailed a little, eyes searching for something. “You mean… you wouldn’t be on that project.”

Tony felt a tinge of guilt, followed by a harsh pulsing in his chest. “Wasn’t planning on it, no. I gotta’ return to the literary series after the comics are finished. Besides – I figured you’d want to flesh out Captain America on your own.”

Steve remained deftly silent for a moment, averting his gaze. Caught in a slight daze, he muttered, “Feels weird.” Tony blinked, pulling a slight frown. Steve was phasing in and out of focus – eyes looking glassy. Almost lost. “Sorry. Guess I’m just a little too used to having you around. The idea of you…  _ not _ being part of my work feels kind of… wrong.”

Tony’s skin began to warm, heart picking up in pace. Steve… wanted him.

“I’ll need time to think about the offer.” His voice was a little cold – still as reverent and polite as usual. Just not the Steve Tony wanted to hear. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I’m ready to have my own series. For now, I just wanna’ focus on the Avengers. If it’s all the same to you.”

Tony swallowed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll shelve it for now.”

As he made his way towards the door, he heard the faint scratch of Steve’s pencil against paper – resuming its usual business. Tony couldn’t help but think how much he was going to miss that sound. How much he was going to miss Steve. Of course, they still had time. Eight months, to be precise.

Eight short months.  _ Fuck. Keep it together. _

\---

If it wasn’t already blatantly apparent to Steve – Tony was a textbook narcissist. 

It served its purpose perfectly when confronted with a poster signing in the heart of central Brooklyn. Stark Entertainment had organised a little meet-and-greet for the two of them, designed to help them connect with their ever-growing fanbase.

A queue of hundreds flooded the hall – zig-zagging across the venue to where Steve and Tony sat behind a single signing table. Banners advertising the upcoming Avengers comics were stationed on every wall; filling the room with exuberant streams of colour.

Tony was a natural. He knew how to talk to people, allowing them to shower him in compliments while simultaneously signing each poster with a charming smile and a snappy remark. It was a fine balance between snark and sincerity; one Steve somewhat admired.

Another thing he admired was just how pretty Tony’s signature looked next to his on a poster. But that was beside the point.

“What’s your formula for coming up with plotlines, Mister Stark?” a young fan asked as she placed her poster down onto the table.

Tony clicked his tongue as he began writing his name. “Quantum mechanics, five consecutive cups of coffee, a shot of tequila – scratch the tequila--”

The girl giggled.

“-- basic mathematical engineering knowledge, and an IQ of 270. I know, I’m the best.” He dropped the girl a wink before sliding the poster over towards Steve. “Take it away, Rogers.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a mildly affectionate smile. Considering the fact that Tony had never before shared a signing table with anyone in his entire career, it felt like a strange privilege. 

After signing the girl’s poster, and giving her his thanks, Tony took a brief moment to turn his attention to Steve. “Need to take five, Cap’? Don’t want you burning out on me.”

Steve arched a questioning brow. “Burning out? I could do this all day.”

Tony scoffed, biting at his bottom lip to suppress a growing grin. Steve smiled, before reminding himself not to stare.  _ Don’t even think about it, Rogers. _

Minutes turned into hours, and Steve was slowly beginning to regret his early cockiness. His fingers were getting jittery and his smile was beginning to cramp up. Not to mention, he’d made the mistake of cheaping out on lunch (which was a  _ definite  _ no-go.) Every so often, Tony would give him a subtle elbow-nudge of encouragement. A gesture that  _ just  _ about managed to get him through the rest of the event.

By the time the last group of fans had left the building, Steve was hunched over the table with his forehead on the desk. His lungs deflated with a grainy groan, eyes deciding to fall shut without permission.

“Feeling the grind yet, Rogers?” Tony said, poking teasingly at his shoulder with the end of a sharpie.

“Nah,” he lied. “The desk just looked comfortable.” Tony laughed beneath his breath, standing from the table to stretch his legs. “What time is it?”

“Six. Wanna’ get something to eat?”

Steve perked up a little at the mention of food, before letting his expression sour. “Actually, I gotta’ run home. Got a couple art commissions to fill before tomorrow morning.”

“ _ Art commissions _ ?” Tony’s sharp tone caught him off-guard. His head shot up from the desk – met by Tony’s unexpected callous. “I pay you 30k a  _ week _ , and you’re still doing  _ art commissions _ ?”

“I accepted the commissions _ months  _ ago, Tony, I can’t just let them down.” Steve breathed heavily through his nostrils, choosing to sit himself up and gather his composure. “I closed commissions a week after you hired me – but I still got two requests to fill. These people are expecting pieces from me by tomorrow.”

Tony had his arms folded over his chest, a stubborn glower upon his face. He gave a dull hum. “Just… promise me you won’t accept any more jobs outside the company. You got enough shit to do at Stark Entertainment as it is.”

_ Tony’s worried about me.  _ Or, at the very least, he was worried about him overworking himself. Knowing that felt surprisingly good. Good enough to bring a smirk to Steve’s lips. “Alright. I promise.”

Tony’s eyes traced the floor for a moment. His skin seemed to flush a little. “You know, if you want, I can come by your place later and drop off some food.”

Steve cocked his head. That sounded appealing. “What kinda’ food?”

“I was thinking cheeseburgers.” 

He couldn’t help but raise his brow at that. “Really? Didn’t take you for the fast-food type.”

“Yeah, well... you don’t know me like that, Rogers.”

Steve’s heart sank a little.  _ Ouch.  _ Why did that hurt? Most people didn’t tend to get so friendly with their bosses. It shouldn’t have affected him in the way that it did. Almost like Tony didn’t  _ want  _ to get to know him. Which was… reasonable, he supposed.

Tony was already fiddling with his phone – no doubt informing Happy that he was on his way out. “Yes or no on the burgers, Cap’?” he asked, not looking up from the screen.

“Uhm… yeah... sure,” Steve said, still a little too caught up inside his own head.

“Cool. I’ll be by in a couple hours. Text me the address before then.” Tony was already heading towards the exit on the other side of the hall. Watching him walk away left an awkward ache in the pit of Steve’s stomach. Maybe that was just the hunger talking. Maybe.

“Tony,” he called.

Tony stopped just outside the door, slipping his sunglasses over his eyes while looking towards Steve expectantly.

“I…”  _ Shit. What am I saying?  _ For a moment, Steve scrambled to make sense of his thoughts, his heart drumming embarrassingly loud inside his chest.  _ Say something. Anything. _ “... I would…  _ like _ to get to know you, Tony. You know… beyond work. It would… mean a lot to me if we could be friends.”

For a moment, Tony seemed caught in his gaze, his skin reddening a little. He coyly averted his eyes – clearing his throat as he pretended to fiddle with his phone. “Sure thing, Cap’. Sure thing.”

And with that, he was out the door.

_ … Huh. _

\---

“MJ, would you mind  _ not  _ getting pencil shavings all over my carpet?” Steve asked from his easel – turning his head over his shoulder to throw the girl a tired scowl. “I got someone coming over.”

Michelle was sat upon Steve’s battered old couch, her sketchbook resting in her lap. She tapped the end of her freshly sharpened pencil against her palm with a hum. “Is it a date?” she asked.

“What? No.”

“Then I don’t care.”

Steve scoffed, watching as she went about brushing the pencil shavings off her knees and onto the floor. Michelle was Steve’s neighbour/unofficial apprentice. Ever since her family moved in next door, she’d been spending a lot of time drawing in his living room. Apparently she was at a severe lack of friends (though, in Steve’s humble opinion, she took it like a champ.) At any rate – he didn’t particularly mind. In fact, for a kid of seventeen, she was actually pretty talented with a pencil.

“Don’t you have homework to be doing?” Steve muttered, turning back towards his canvas to finish up his painting.

He heard Michelle give a soft,  _ “Nah,” _ followed by the brisk scratching of lead against sketchbook. “Did all my homework in detention.”

Steve frowned. “You got detention?”

“No. But I went anyway.”

_ Oh.  _ Steve’s brush paused for a moment. “... Fair enough.” Absently, he took a moment to check his watch – frowning a little. Tony should be here by now… maybe he was stuck in traffic.

“Y’know, for a  _ not-date _ , you seem kinda’ jumpy,” Michelle commented.

“I’m not…” Steve trailed off, grumbling to himself. “He’s just… running a little late is all.”

“Who’s the guy?”

Steve decided not to answer, shaking his head as he finished up a couple details on his painting. It was a nice piece of art, even if fairly mediocre. Then again;  _ everything  _ he painted seemed fairly mediocre since he started illustrating the Avengers. Nothing would ever compare to drawing for Tony. Not even doodling Captain America, (something which had long since been his favourite pastime.) 

Tony’s ideas always brought the best out of him. Steve smiled at the thought.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Michelle asked, her voice dull despite its context.

Steve placed his brush down into a cup of water, wiping his hands on the nearby dishcloth. “Tell who what?”

“The guy that’s coming over.” The pencil scratching paused for a moment. “You’re obviously obsessed with him.”

“Wha--” Steve choked, almost bumping into his canvas as he turned towards her. “I… have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Wow. Your lying skills are almost as bad as your taste in men.” Michelle nudged her foot against one of the Heroes Weekly magazines resting on the coffee table – revealing a set of loose Tony sketches Steve had forgotten to put away.

“Hey, watch it,” Steve grumbled, rushing over to scoop up both the magazine and his drawings.

“Tony Stark? Really?”

Finally giving in, Steve let out a heavy sigh. “He’s a good guy, Michelle.”

“Oh yeah, sure. Between promoting flawed capitalism and exploiting the economy, I’m sure he’s just swell.”

Once again deciding to ignore her comments, Steve walked around the back of the couch – taking a quick look over her sketchbook. She was working on a drawing of a vaguely familiar young man ( _ where have I seen him before? _ ) with his head rested on a desk. A little rough around the edges – definitely needed more refinement – but otherwise, not bad.

“What lead are you using?” Steve asked.

Michelle squinted her eyes. “HB.”

“Switch to 3B, work on your shading. Shoulder proportions are a little wonky. Otherwise, good job.”

“Thanks, mom,” she said with a slight sarcastic drawl, reaching for her pencil case.

Just then, a loud thud rumbled through the front door. Steve startled for a moment, turning his head with a grave expression. After a moment of silence, the thud came again – followed shortly by Tony’s muffled grumble.

“Cap’, your door’s broken,” he slurred lazily. 

_ Oh God, he’s been drinking.  _

“MJ, you should probably--”

“No worries,” she said, already gathering her things up. “Not like I had any interest in being around your self-absorbed boss, anyhow.”

The thud came again, followed by Tony droning out an incoherent string of words followed by a giggle. Definitely more drunk than last time, that’s for sure. 

Steve took a deep breath as he made way to the front door, unchaining the lock before cracking it open. Tony must have been leaning against the door – because the minute it opened, his body came stumbling in. 

“Jesus  _ Christ _ ,” Steve huffed, only just managing to catch Tony in his arms. Tony’s head collided with the centre of his chest; his chuckles muffled by the front of Steve’s shirt.

The first thing that hit him was the obvious stench of vodka and wine present on the man’s skin. The second thing was just how warm Tony’s body felt pressed against his. Steve registered his arms wrapped around Tony’s shoulders and felt his own body stiffen. 

This was the closest they’d ever been.

He could feel Tony’s slow, gentle breaths through the thin fabric of his shirt. Heat began to rise to Steve’s head as he tried to compose himself.

“You know,” he muttered, “I’m starting to think you might have a drinking problem, Stark.”

Tony chuckled lowly, his voice made husk by the alcohol. “You got me. But, on a slightly less problematic note ––” Tony pointed a thumb over his shoulder towards the paper takeaway bag sat by the doorway. Steve couldn’t help but smirk.

_ Right. The burgers. _

“You smell nice, Cap’.”

Steve’s blush worsened. Clearing his throat, he gently pushed Tony off his chest. “Uh… thanks? I, uh…”

At which point, Michelle wandered into the hallway – her school bag slung over her shoulder. She looked the two of them up and down before holding her middle finger up at Tony. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to notice. “Later, Steven.”

Steve managed a brief smile. “See you later, MJ.”

The moment she stepped out of the doorway, Tony squinted his eyes, body swaying in a languid motion. “Who was that?”

“My neighbour, Michelle. She’s…” 

Tony wasn’t listening. He had his eyes lazily tracing every piece of furniture – from the broken cabinet to the crooked picture frame. Steve managed to swallow his sigh.

_ God, this was going to be a long night. _

\---

It was kind of surreal, really.

Drunk Tony was a lot like sober Tony, only a little less intelligent… and a lot less restrained.

That became apparent when the two of them sat down on the sofa to eat their burgers, and Tony immediately reclined to rest his head on Steve’s thigh. Not that he minded, of course. It was just… very unexpected. 

“I just had an epiphany,” Tony said behind a large mouthful of burger. “Canonically speaking, there’s gonna’ be conflict between Cap’n America and Iron Man. I mean, it’s inevitable. Two head-strong assholes leading a group of super-freaks on a mission to save the world?”

Steve smirked, fiddling with the wrapper on his burger. “I dunno’ – sounds like an iconic duo to me.” Tony mumbled something incoherent – mostly muffled by the food in his mouth. “You don’t think so?”

After swallowing, Tony gave a huff, momentarily resting his burger on his chest. “Iconic, sure. But it wouldn’t last long. Iron Man would probably find some way to fuck up that little relationship in no time.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Steve muttered, unable to take his eyes off of Tony… yet again. Having him so close for the first time didn’t exactly aid the situation. “Iron Man and Captain America make a great team. ‘Least, in my books.”

“You don’t have books,” Tony quipped back. “I got fifty-seven. Ergo, my view’s more valid.” 

“Sounds more like obsession than validation.”

“Well, excuse me if I’m a little obsessive compulsive. It’s kinda’ what I do.” 

Steve smirked. “Nah, I respect your passion for your work. What I  _ don’t  _ respect is the notion that Iron Man and Captain America could possibly be anything other than perfect together.”

“Easy Cap’,” Tony said beneath a teasing chuckle. “They’re supposed to be teammates, not lovers.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he said, “Hey, it’s not my fault they’re so damn compatible.”

“Same could be said ‘bout us, I guess.” Steve’s heart stuttered, his eyes fluttering at the statement. “Creative compatibility’s kinda’ rare to come by.”

_ Oh. Creatively. Right.  _ His lungs faltered a little. “Yeah, I hear you.”

“Which is… kind of why I like you so much.” Tony’s words came out a little coy, even in his intoxicated state. “Y’know, if I seem a little distant, it’s not because of you, Steve. I got this little thing called a superiority complex. Attachment issues. Like my old man always said,  _ ‘good things never last forever’ _ , so… what’s the point, right?”

The statement filled Steve’s chest with a hollowing sadness. Surely Tony knew he deserved more than that. With a heavy heart, Steve tried to gather his thoughts. “That sounds… pretty unhealthy.”

Tony hummed in acknowledgement, picking up his burger to take another large bite. “You know what else is unhealthy?” he said between chews. “Living in a dump when you earn 60k bi-weekly.”

Steve smirked, absently examining the warm brown hues woven into Tony’s hair.  _ Looks soft. _ “Well, I’ve lived in this place for the past six years… feels weird to move out now. Besides, I kinda’ like the neighbours.”

“Right; Michelle, was it?”

So he  _ had  _ been listening. Good to know. “Yeah. She’s a good kid. Bit of a loner, but I can’t hold it against her.”

With a half-hearted grumble, Tony said, “I’m guessing you were quite the ladies’ man at her age.”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Far from it, actually. I was that skinny little nobody who always got beat on in high school. Pretty sure Bucky was my only friend for the majority of my childhood.”

“Well… shame we didn’t know each other back then,” Tony said with a lazy half-smile. It felt surprisingly genuine. Not one of those cut-n’-paste debonair smiles he always gave the press. Just… a smile that was completely, and 100% Tony. 

Steve’s chest swelled with affection, the air growing thinner with every passing moment. This man would be the death of him. “Yeah… real shame.”


	7. Glorified paperweight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7!!!! Bit of a filler ~
> 
> Unfortunately, this chapter isn't proof-read, as I'm still very sick ~~ it's also a little on the long side – (sorry about that) but I hope you enjoy it anyways ^^

Tony was about half-way through typing out his second manuscript of the day when--  **_BAM._ **

…

…..

…….

Crippling writer’s block.

He stared blankly at the blinking cursor on his computer screen – hearing it silently mock his lack of productivity.  _ Oh no _ . No, this was bad. This was very,  _ very  _ bad. It’d been ten years since he’d last hit a wall. Ten years of pure creative flow, only to get clogged up by… apparently  _ nothing _ ? 

He typed out a vaguely coherent sentence, only to spam the delete key. He tried again, and repeated the process. And again… and again… and again… and––

“ _ Fuck! _ ”

Slamming his fist into his desk, he pushed his chair back – carding a hand through his hair.  _ Alright, chill out, Stark. Just need a cup of coffee and a dose of inspiration. No pressure. No. Fucking. Pressure. _

A knock at the door momentarily distracted him. Pepper poked her head through the doorway, waving a slip of card in her fingertips with a beaming smile across her lips. “Guess who just got nominated for their--”

“Sixth National Book Award? Yeah, shocker.” Tony played up his smirk. “Guardians of the Galaxy or Ragnarok?”

Pepper arched a sharp brow. “Ragnarok.”

“Called it.”

“You _ are  _ planning on going this year, right?” she said, her voice sombre and somewhat hopeful. “It was embarrassing enough sending Miss Romanoff to collect the award for you last year.”

“Really? I thought it was hilarious,” Tony said, his grin turning cocky. “Gotta’ be honest, not really interested in owning another glorified paperweight.”

Pepper took a deep breath, her eyes falling shut for a brief moment. “Listen, I know you don’t like going to these things, Tony. But this could be a  _ wonderful  _ chance for you to promote your upcoming collaboration with Mister Rogers.”

Tony’s jaw clenched, a grumble leaving his lips.  _ Fuck… she’s right.  _ Hundreds of influential authors would be attending the Award ceremony. Authors that could aid him and Steve in their promotional agenda. Not attending could possibly hinder his reputation… maybe even Steve’s. 

“... Fine. Tell Rogers to suit up.”

Pepper’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Yup. I already sent him a copy of the invitation.” 

Tony doubted Steve would be very keen on attending. He barely managed the majority of their press conferences – let alone a five-hour Award Ceremony broadcast over live television. He’d have to make it up to him at some point. 

\---

Steve was still getting used to the concept of being semi-famous amongst the Superhero fandom. Grateful as he was, having his name plastered across comic sites and superhero forums was somewhat… overwhelming.

_ ‘STEVE ROGERS RUMOURED TO MAKE CAPTAIN AMERICA SPIN-OFF?? THOUGHTS???’ _

_ ‘ _ **_WeStanTheIronMan:_ ** _ wtf?? A Rogers solo comic? Sign me tf up!’ _

_ ‘ _ **_S-Lee-1922:_ ** _ idk this america fellow seems lousy 2 me >:(‘ _

_ ‘ _ **_MantisProtectionSquad_ ** _ : lol hes hot tho’ _

_ ‘ _ **_IamGroot64:_ ** _ yawn’ _

**_‘DCFTW:_ ** _ Um yeah no Steve Rogers can barely draw a straight line let alone a graphic novel ew’ _

**_‘UsernameWWilson:_ ** _ Captain who?’ _

**_‘Hawk2MyEye:_ ** _ if Steve Rogers doesn’t release a solo comic abt Captain America being a gay icon, I’m actually going to break something’ _

“You’re not on those dumb-ass forums again, are you?” Bucky’s voice echoed from the bathroom.

Steve slapped his laptop shut before placing it down onto the coffee table. “Nope.”  _ Not anymore, at least. _

"Good – ‘cuz those fans are shady as  _ fuck. _ ”

Steve chuckled beneath his breath. “If you say so, buddy.”

The two of them were preparing themselves to attend the National Book Award Ceremony. Since Steve didn’t have a real representative, he’d nominated Bucky as his agent… of sorts. Bucky didn't seem to mind. After all – between running shifts at the local bar, and flirting with the dames down on Main Street – the guy had nothing better to do.

“So how’s Stark treating you?” Bucky asked beneath the sound of running water.

Steve managed a tentative smile, glancing over to the designer suit Tony had picked for him still hanging by the doorway. “He’s a good guy to work with.”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, voice falling sceptically. “MJ said you kind of had a thing for him. What  _ is  _ that – like, a kink or something?”

“It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it? Last I checked, you kinda’ had a thing for brown-eyed brunettes.”

“ _ Watch it _ , Barnes.”

Bucky began to chuckle away, turning off the shower water before saying, “Hey, no judgement, man. You do you. Just don’t jump him in the workplace – that’s considered sexual assault.”

Whatever retaliation Steve had was shortly muffled by an affectionate snicker. Bucky was perhaps the only person besides MJ who knew about his sexuality. MJ had sussed it out on her own, while Bucky found out via drunken text message. Not how he’d envisioned his coming-out to unravel, but could have been a lot worse.

“I’ve no intention of ‘ _ jumping’ _ anyone. ‘Specially not my boss.”

Having said that, he really  _ did  _ need to get that little crush of his in check. Just thinking about him made his heart stutter a little in his chest. Steve couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like to have Tony as his special someone. God, if it wasn’t for their work partnership, maybe the two of them could… nah, best not humour that thought. At any rate, Tony didn’t seem like the type to enjoy long-term relationships.

Steve would have to stick to admiring from a distance. And he was okay with that.  _ Crushes don’t usually last too long, right?  _

He’d almost finished getting ready when Bucky emerged from the bathroom. Barnes was wearing a second-hand evening jacket thrown over a pair of tatty blue… jeans.

Oh dear.

Steve momentarily stopped fiddling with his tie. “You can’t wear that.”

“Uhm… why no--”

“I got some suit pants you can borrow. Tony’s not gonna’ want to be seen with you in--”

“Oooh, Mister Big-shot’s too cool for jeans now, is he?” Bucky snorted out a chuckle. “Listen man, the only reason I even agreed to go to this stupid-ass Award show thing is for  _ your _ sake. If Stark’s got a problem with it, he can take a hike.”

Steve sighed, wondering if there was even any hope in trying to convince the man to just  _ put the goddamn slacks on _ .

Just as he was about to make a final attempt, there was a sharp knock at the door. “Car’s here, Cap’,” Tony’s voice rang from the other side.

Bucky whistled playfully, his lips bearing a grin. “Speak of the devil.”

Steve took a heavy breath and gently nudged Bucky out of the way, making his way to the front door.  _ Okay, relax.  _ He opened the door to see Tony in the hallway – fiddling with his phone, as usual, with his eyes behind a pair of sunglasses. Aside from the well-fitted suit and tie, he had on a wonderfully rich cologne. An almost sweet scent that Steve could  _ definitely  _ get used to.

“You’re a little early,” Steve said.

Tony looked towards him – immediately forming a frown. He slipped his phone away into his pocket, anxiety playing upon his expression. “Yeah, fashionably.” The man cleared his throat. “You, uh…” He pointed towards Steve’s open necktie and crooked shirt collar.

“Right, yeah.” Steve went about trying to straighten up his shirt.  _ God, am I being awkward? Feels like I’m being awkward.  _ He began wrestling with his tie, silently cursing his lack of suit knowledge.

Tony gave a short grumble, batting Steve’s hands away from the fabric. Steve watched with bated breath as Tony helped him do up his tie – skillfully and carefully tying up the knot. Much neater than he’d have done it. He was very close… could Tony feel his heart hammering away in his chest? 

Once he was done, Steve gave a quiet, “Thanks,” still trying to will away his butterflies.

Tony replied with a brief nod. “Right. Where’s Barnes?”

“He’s--”

Steve felt a weight against his back as Bucky craned his head over his shoulder. “Hey, Stark – how’s it hangin’?”

Tony blinked at the man, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair. “Barnes.” His eyes trailed down to Bucky’s apparently offensive pair of jeans and his expression soured. “ _ Tell me _ you’re still getting ready.”

“Nope!” He slapped Steve hard on the shoulder. “I’m good to go. If you need me, I’ll be by the car.”

Squeezing himself between Steve and the doorway, Bucky made his way down the hall – whistling as he went. Tony stared after him, sharp-eyed and tight-jawed. “Is he for real?”

“Sadly, yes,” Steve muttered. “Look, I’m sorry. I tried to tell him--”

“No, it’s… it’s fine.” Tony cleared his throat, inspecting the rest of Steve’s attire with his head cocked cutely to the right. “‘Least  _ you _ look reasonably good. Can’t really ruin a face like yours. All the more eye-candy for the press, right?”

Steve smirked.  _ Aw _ . “Standing next to you? Not sure they’ll be paying all too much attention to me.”

Tony pulled a small smile. “Yeah, let’s face it. I’m the best.” He dropped Steve a cocky wink before taking off down the hall. “But, you’re a close second.”

\---

_ Come on, Stark. You got this – just write something. Anything-- _

“You alright, Tony?” Steve asked on the limo ride to the venue.

Tony was staring at a blank notes page on his phone. A page which, most often, was layered with half-hearted thoughts of brilliance. Creative spurs and shelved ideas he’d thought of on the go – to be kept for later use when typing out his next breakthrough.

Today, however, the page was empty. Not a single word.

“Never better,” he replied, his confidence wavering. He couldn’t let Steve know about his recent creative congestion. It would only make the man worry – and frankly, Steve had enough things to worry about. With submission deadlines fast approaching, neither one of them had time to waste on pointless creative burn-out.

He could feel Steve’s gaze lingering, and  _ fuck,  _ it was getting hard to breathe. Tony suddenly became overtly aware of the arm pressed flush against his. Strong, warm, comforting.  _ Fuck. Should have just sat next to Nat. _

The crush was getting worse.

“Looking kinda’ nervous, there, Stark,” Bucky commented from across the limo. “Lil’ ol’ Steve Rogers got you blushing?”

Tony felt a twitch in his brow. “I’m sorry – can we pull over a second? Kinda’ smells like someone forgot to take out the trash.”

Natasha and Bucky drew a consecutive hiss, followed by Steve lulling his head back with a sigh. “No need for wrangling on a night like this, folks.”

“Tell that to shorty over there,” Bucky teased.

Tony shrugged. “Well, you know what they say. The shorter you are, the closer to hell.” Bucky burst into chuckles. “Don’t piss me off, Princess. Pretty sure Satan has a thing for me.”

“Careful, Tony,” Natasha slurred, “you might make Steven a little jealous.”

“Nat’,” Steve nudged the woman’s knee with his shoe, causing her to laugh. “Jesus, sharing a car with you guys might have been a mistake.”

“Hey,” Clint called from the driver’s seat. “If you kids are done bickering; we’re coming up on the venue. Sharpen up, folks.”

Tony looked over towards Steve – not expecting him to be looking straight back.  _ How the fuck are your eyes so pretty?  _ Steve gave him a short smile, nudging him playfully with his elbow. At which point, Tony averted his gaze; else his heart would explode right out of his chest. This was not okay.

“Alright, ladies,” Natasha said, “we know the rules. No pissing off anyone famous, no bad-mouthing anyone famous, and no quickies with anyone famous. Tony, I’m talking to you.”

Tony groaned lowly, pulling his sunglasses from his pocket and placing them over his eyes. “Alright. Let’s get this shit over with.”

\---

The Award Ceremony was taking place in a massive hall adorning hundreds of silk-lined tabletops, and chairs filled with a thousand familiar faces. Writers of divine reputation sat scattered every which way; dressed in silk and gold while nursing glasses of champagne. 

While Tony and Natasha were off mingling with old friends, Steve found himself sat opposite the esteemed and renowned novelist, T’challa – author of the  _ ‘Black Panther’ _ series, and rumoured descendant of some African nobility (though, he denied all claims).

“I am quite the fan of your work,” T’challa said with humble resonance. “Many speak well of you in this community. For that, you have my respect.”

Steve smiled. “Thank you. I gotta’ say – I’m not exactly used to it yet. This whole fame fever really isn’t my style.”

“Well. You  _ will  _ get used to it. Especially with Mister Stark as your employer.” T’challa’s expression soured a little, index finger tapping methodically upon the tabletop. “You seem like an honourable man. Why are you working for the Stark Cooperation?”

Startled by the question, Steve drew a frown. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

T’challa’s expression remained oppressively stale. “Ingenious as the man may be, I believe he has no integrity. My respect for him goes no further than his creative talents. Because you’ve yet to know what he is, I only wish to caution you.”

Steve’s stomach began to churn, discomfort settling in his chest. “With all due respect, T’challa – I’ve been working with Tony for almost half a year. Yes, he can be a little… standoffish, but I know he’s still a good guy.”

“You are defending a man who has a reputation of dismissing 39% of his employees every year. Based on not skill, but schematic efficiency.” Steve stiffened at his words, bones growing rigid. T’challa seemed to notice. “Perhaps you are blinded by your respect for him – but I tell you now, he does not deserve your work. Someday, his true colours may just be revealed to you.”

Steve hadn’t noticed his hands forming tight fists upon the table. Why did people only  _ ever _ have bad things to say about Tony? T’challa. Justin Hammer. The media. They were all wrong about him. Yes, Tony had a tendency to be a narcissistic prick. He also had a tendency to chuckle beneath his breath, and smile at the ground. He was generous, and kind – even with all the trouble weighing down on his shoulders. When he wasn’t being an impulsive reck, his actions were thoughtful and sincere. 

The unbridled hate was really starting to piss him off.

Before he could say anything he was going to regret, Bucky decided to join the table with a glass of wine in hand. “Dude, this is  _ insane _ . I just drank champagne that’s literally worth more than my apartment.”

Steve gave a stiff smile. “T’challa, this is my friend, James Barnes. Bucky, this is--”

“ _ Ladies and gentlemen, _ ” a young woman’s voice echoed through the hall, drawing everyone’s attention to the stage. “ _ This year’s National Book Awards shall commence within just a few short moments. Thank you all for joining us here this evening. _ ”

“This is some fancy shit,” Bucky uttered beneath his breath. Steve shushed him, unable to keep himself from snickering. Yup, bringing Barnes was possibly the best and worst decision he could have possibly made. 

A few seconds later, Natasha and Tony finally rejoined the table. Steve liked the way Tony almost gravitated towards him – sitting down beside him before exchanging a lazy smile. He looked a little flustered, probably from all the socialising. And, suddenly Steve felt at ease. 

It didn’t matter what other people thought. So long as Tony was beside him… nothing really mattered.

\---

Tony was out of it the entire night.

He spent most of the event staring down at his phone, worrying about his writer’s block. It probably came off as a little rude to the other guests – but then again, what else was new? They all had a distaste for him in one way or another. 

Natasha had thrown him a couple threatening glances, warning him to behave. To  _ focus. _ Of course, with so much on his mind, he couldn’t bring himself out. So much noise, yet not a single sign of coherency in his thoughts. Never in his life had he experienced such creative burn-out.

It made him feel useless. Pathetic, almost. Like the one thing he was good at was suddenly rendered mundane. The thought of failure was beginning to swallow him whole.

When they announced his book as fiction of the year, his eyes were still glued to his phone. He barely even registered them calling his name. Didn’t hear the rowdy applause engulfing the air about him. Didn’t feel the hundreds of eyes staring at him in cold expectants.

Steve placed a hand upon his shoulder. His touch was warm, and so effortlessly consoling. Tony’s breath drew short. He felt his heart in his throat. _ No _ ... he wouldn’t let Steve down. Not now. Not ever.

Briefly placing his hand over Steve’s where it rested on his shoulder, he gave him a smile. A real one this time.

Standing up, he made his way towards the stage. The crowds parted as he walked, continuing to applaud with their plastic smiles plastered over their lips. At least Steve’s smiles were real.

The one good thing left in Tony’s fucked up corporate life. What a fucking revelation.

Swaggering up to the stage, he put on his usual facade – giving the presenter a flirty wink and a kiss on the cheek. She handed him the award trophy before stepping away from the podium. Tony hadn’t prepared his speech. He never did. Never really needed to.

“Well,” he said, as he approached the podium. “Bet you assholes didn’t think I’d  _ actually  _ be here tonight.”

The crowd chuckled, probably because it was true.

“But, in all seriousness, I  _ do _ deserve this award.” The chuckles grew to laughter. Tony let it simmer down before he continued on. “However, I  _ will  _ say that I think all the guests here probably deserve it just as much – if not more so. Guys, I’m talking to the writers; not all you freeloading plus ones out there.”

Beneath the heated spotlight, and the mellowing giggles fluttering through the hall, Tony caught sight of Steve. Smiling warmly. Proudly. So genuine, it almost made him feel guilty for not taking this award ceremony seriously.

But… it felt good to have Steve out here. Standing by, rooting for him. And, for a moment, nothing else mattered.

“Actually, that’s a lie,” Tony said, once his thoughts had gathered. “There is  _ one  _ other person in this room who deserves recognition tonight. And he’s not a writer. Matter of fact, he kinda’ sucks ass at writing.” They laughed again. “... But he’s here anyway. Because I needed him here. I invited him tonight, because ever since he came into my life, I’ve been… not just a better writer, but a better person.

“Writing isn’t just about the guy who holds the pen. It’s about the inspiration. And, for that reason, I’d like to thank my friend, creative muse, and illustrative monkey, Mister Steve Grant Rogers. Brilliant guy, total art freak, and the greatest thing that has happened to me since the start of my career.”

There was an applause given for Steve. Not loud enough, in Tony’s opinion. Of course, it wasn’t the applause that really counted.

\---

“You didn’t have to do that,” Steve said softly.

“No. No, I did.” Tony was drumming his fingertips against the neck of a beer bottle. The two stood on the balcony of Tony’s private travel house. Natasha, Bucky, and Pepper were downstairs in the living room – celebrating Tony’s victory by raiding his stash of Italian wine.

The air was warm and the night was clear. Steve stood with his elbows propped up on the bannister, basking in the quiet with Tony at his side.

He hadn’t expected Tony to mention him in his speech. To think he actually meant so much to him… it was gratifying. So what if it was a media stunt to promote the comic series? It still counted.

“I’ve hit a wall, Cap’,” Tony said. “Wasn’t gonna’ tell you about it – but it doesn’t feel like it’s going away anytime soon.”

“A wall?”

“Writer’s block. I got nothing.” 

_ Oh. Shit.  _ Steve supposed that would explain a lot of Tony’s weird behaviour over the past few days. Had he been keeping it all to himself? “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

Tony scoffed, taking a hefty gulp from his beer. Steve couldn't help the frustrated sigh that left his lips. He only wished Tony would open up to him a little more. He wanted to be there for him… yet, he always felt so far away. “You got your own problems, Steve. No point in me burdening you with mine.”

“It’s not a burden, Tony.”

“You say that now--”

“ _ Stop _ .” His sharp tone made Tony flinch. Not what Steve had intended, but at least he had him listening. “Just… we’re a  _ team _ .  _ Your  _ problems are mine, whether you like it or not. I’m not about to sit back and let you take a hit, just because you’re too stubborn to see that I… that I actually care about you. I want to help you – don’t you understand that?”

Tony stood there, silent and frozen. Unable to meet Steve’s gaze. Steve would give anything to know what that man was thinking. What made his brilliant mind tick. All of his thoughts just clustered together.  _ Just talk to me.... please. _

“I…” Tony cleared his throat, setting the beer bottle down on the bannister before rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m having trouble with Iron Man and Cap’n America’s arc.”

Steve softened a little, noticing Tony beginning to fidget. “Go on.”

“... I can’t decide what I wanna’ do.” Tony finally turned to face him straight on, eyes looking a little glassy. “The way I see it, we got three options. Option one – Civil War.”

Steve grimaced. He didn’t like the sound of that. “Elaborate.”

“It’s... a solid end to the Avengers, essentially. Iron Man and the Captain have a falling out, butt heads for a little while, and then the Avengers go their separate ways.”

Steve felt his throat close up, mouth going dry. “Don’t think I like that option.”

Tony snickered. “Yeah, it is a little brash, but--”

“No, I mean…” Steve sighed through his nostrils. “I don’t… like the idea of Iron Man and Captain America splitting. It doesn’t sit well with me.”

Tony’s skin reddened a little. “Right… sure thing.”

“Option two?”

“Mass genocide equilibrium.” 

Steve nearly choked. “Okay, yeah. Don’t even wanna’ hear about that one.”

Tony chuckled, his throat a little raspy but more or less relaxed by now. “Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t. Which leaves option three – a stupid-ass idealistic happy ending with minimal casualties. I… haven’t exactly figured out how to write that one yet. Don’t even know if I can.”

Steve smiled as Tony looked to him expectantly; docile in his gaze. Like, for once, he was actually listening to someone other than himself. Like, maybe –  _ just  _ maybe, he was ready to share his burdens. “Well... I’d be happy to help you try.”


	8. The Envelope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya! Guess who's back?
> 
> Sorry this update's quite late ~ Life got in the way haha
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Could he even tell him? Would he even understand? Would something so utterly perverse just scare Steve off? The last thing Tony wanted was to ruin their working relationship… How does one even start a conversation like that?  _ ‘Hi, I know I’m your boss and everything, but you’re sort of the guy of my dreams – and I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone as vexingly brilliant as you are. Not really sure how to go about it, but if I seem kinda’ nervous, it’s because I like you. A lot.’ _

“As if,” Tony muttered, staring down into his empty coffee cup.

He heard Steve’s low laughter resonate beside him. “Do you always talk to yourself, or is that just a thing that happens whenever I happen to be in the room?”

“I’d say its a seasonal occurrence.”

The two stood patiently in the hallway, waiting for Miss Potts to get back to them on their latest advertising scheme. The pilot release date was fast approaching, and Tony wasn’t about to cheap out on hype expenses.  _ ‘Go big or go home’  _ was his prime mentality; something he’d been trying to drill into Steve’s brain ever since day one.

Tony snapped his fingers at one of his secretaries strutting down the hallway. “Hey, beautiful?” he said, holding up his empty mug. The dainty woman turned towards him, smiling sweetly. “Be a doll and fill her up for me?”

“Sure thing, Mister Stark,” she said, taking the cup from him. Tony dropped her a playful wink and she giggled in response, making her way towards the elevators.

“She a favourite of yours?” Steve asked.

Tony gave a half-hearted, “Eh,” crossing his arms over his chest. “Not my type. Probably only good for a night in Vegas. Makes a damn good coffee though.”

A warm chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest, causing Tony’s heart to stutter. _What a voice_. “You have a _type_?” Tony shrugged his shoulders, attempting to be apathetic. A charming smirk teased the corner of Steve’s lips. “Well now you’ve got me curious.”

“Sounds like a drag.” Tony looked towards Steve, almost surprised to see him looking straight back — head cocked and eyes smiling. Second-hand jacket aside, the man looked wonderful. Truly wonderful. Staring was a temptation Tony both loathed and yearned for.  _ God, cut it out, Stark. _ He cleared his throat. “So what’s  _ your _ type, Uncle Sam?”

Steve snickered, glancing down at the floor, then at the wall. “I dunno’... Someone smart, I guess. Funny. Kind-hearted.”

“Barf.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, his expression softening. “What can I say? I’m a simple guy.”

Tony gave a grunt of confirmation, though truly — Steve was anything but  _ simple _ . No simple guy could fluster the impalpable Tony Stark. No simple guy could work a pencil with such intense perfection. “Raise your standards, Cap’. You deserve better.”

“Think my standards are just fine, thanks.” His charming smile turned slightly coy as he cleared his throat. “Besides… I sort of have my eye on someone.”

Tony winced, an ache pulsing through his chest.  _ Ouch.  _ “Lemmie’ guess. Some pretty little dame with a Stanford degree in journalism.”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head. Tony didn’t miss the slight colour rising to the man’s skin. “Not quite. And I don’t think they’d appreciate being called a  _ ‘dame’ _ .” 

Whoever this person was clearly meant a lot to him. The thought alone made Tony’s heart sink. _What a lucky gal._ To have Steve Rogers pining over her. So much for confessing his feelings. “Yeah, well… good luck with that.”

“Yup. Gonna’ need it.”

\---

It was bound to happen at some point.

Fifty-six hours without a wink of sleep, running on nothing but coffee and the occasional Dorito chip, is really not advisable. Tony figured that out the hard way during a series of all-nighters at Stark Tower; sending manuscripts from place to place, writing and re-writing dialogue, double-checking finalised pages, and then--

Dizziness. Head throbbing.  _ Sharp _ pain _. _ Suddenly feeling kinda’... sleepy.

**_Thud._ **

Three hours later, he woke up in a private hospital room with aches drilling through the side of his skull. “Mister Stark,” rang a familiar Doctor’s voice from his bedside. “Enjoying that moderate concussion, I presume?”

Tony grumbled grimly at the ceiling, scrunching his face at the blaring white lights hanging above his head. “Mister Strange,” he muttered.

“ _ Doctor _ ,” he corrected.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Steve’s voice said softly from somewhere about the room. Tony stiffened. He’d not expected _ him _ to be here. “Nothing too serious?”

Stephen Strange, Tony’s private surgeon/practitioner for the past two-or-so years, hummed lowly beneath his breath. “Grade three, direct trauma to the back of the head, moderate bruising on impact, no apparent bleeding. Unfortunately, he’ll live.”

“Shame,” Tony muttered, placing his palm over his eyes. “Was kinda’ counting on my death ruining your clean-streak.”

He could practically hear Stephen rolling his eyes. “Of course, we’ll be keeping him under observation for the next couple days to moderate any late-presenting trauma to the brain that may have occurred. With luck, he should be out by Thursday.”

Tony’s eyes shot wide open. “Thursday? Okay, sorry to burst your bubble, but I got a press release meeting in--”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Steve interjected, his voice humble. “We’ll make sure he gets some rest.”

Tony hissed beneath his breath, running a hand over his face.  _ Great. _

Stephen promptly left the room, closing the door behind him. With that, Tony heard his artist give way to a heavy sigh. “When you said you work better with a mild concussion,” Steve said from his seat just beside his bed, “I  _ really  _ did think you were joking.”

“You underestimate me, Cap’,” Tony said, massaging away the pinpricks in his forehead. “Why are you here?”

“Pepper called me; said you’d taken a fall. I was worried.”

Tony turned his head towards the man, wincing as pain pulsed from the back of his head. He managed to catch a glimpse of Steve doodling away in his sketchbook — glancing up every so often.

“Y’know,” Tony started, “normal people don’t tend to spend their evenings with their semi-concussed employer.”

Steve stilled his pencil for a moment. “Well,  _ normal people  _ don’t tend to work themselves to the point of passing out. So I guess we’re sitting in the same boat here.” He sounded mildly irritated.

Tony scoffed. “There’s this thing called _ ‘a life’ _ ? Maybe consider getting one? They’re all the range this time of year.”

“You should take better care of yourself,” Steve said, tone calm but expression stoic. “You take another fall like that, it could kill you.”

“Little dramatic there, Springer, but I get the sentiment.” 

Steve took a deep breath. Yup, definitely a little pissed off. “I’m serious, Tony. You pull something like that again, and I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Stab me with a pencil? Hit me over the head with your little doodle pad? C’mon, Cap’. I don’t need babysitting.”

Steve stood from his chair, slowly beginning to pace the room. Tony couldn’t help but wonder  _ why _ . Why did Rogers care so much? He was a wonderful guy, of course. Caring and considerate. But even  _ this  _ seemed a little excessive. It felt… weird. Made Tony’s chest fill up with warmth. Made his heart tremble for just a moment.

“We’ll get back to work soon as I’m out, Cap’,” Tony said. “So stop worrying about it. Please.”

Steve remained silent, his footsteps stilling. He had his back to the bed, arms folded and head lulled low. Tony would have given an arm and a leg to know what he’d been thinking. To know what was going on inside that man’s head. “... It’s not work I’m worried about, Stark.”

\---

Steve only ever painted for three reasons.

_Reason number one:_ He was short on money. Acrylic commissions came at a much higher fee in comparison to an artist’s average pencil sketch. But frankly, Steve hadn’t exactly  _ needed  _ the extra cash in a while. Tony’s paychecks were no frugal matter. In fact (in Steve’s humble opinion) they were over-generous. He had more money than he knew what to do with. His fridge had been fully stocked every day for the past three months — a fact MJ had gravely appreciated.

_Reason number two:_ He was feeling inspired. Despite the added clean-up time, painting was a great way for Steve to express himself. He usually liked to stick with his trusty pen and paper — but on occasion, he’d take the time to utilise his skill with a brush. Some of his best works had been brought to life on his easel.

_Reason number three:_ He had something on his mind.

Painting was therapeutic. A way of venting without uttering a single word. On that particular Wednesday afternoon, Steve had himself doting on a large white canvas; laying down layers of red and blue paint. Thinking.

Tony was due to leave the hospital tomorrow. Steve had half a mind to grab the man by his shoulders and shake some sense into him. How was he expected not to worry, when the man was practically working to the brink of insanity? He’d seen it progress over the past few months. Tony fainting in the office had been the final straw.

All Steve wanted was to make sure he was okay. Healthy and functional — as a brilliant man should be. His deeper feelings for Tony were irrelevant for the meantime. Right now, the only thing that mattered was recovery.

… Besides, he doubted Tony would ever truly understand Steve’s affection for him. Steve barely understood it himself. Frankly, he was perfectly okay with admiring Tony from a distance. It hurt a little… but not much more than getting rejected.

A knock on the front door startled Steve from his thoughts. Reluctantly, he placed down his paintbrush and made his way towards the front door. Cracking it open an inch, he was surprised to see Michelle standing by; tired-eyed as always.

“You look gross,” Michelle greeted.

“Uh… thanks.” Steve snickered as he nudged the door open a little wider. “What’s up?”

“Some guy dropped this off in your mailbox.” Michelle peeled open her book bag and fished out a slightly smaller than A4 sized envelope. Across the front, stamped in red, were the words,  _ ‘PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL’. _ “You’re not a government spy, are you?”

“What?” Steve laughed as he took the package from her. “No, nothing like that.”

“Dealing drugs? Embezzling funds?”

“It’s probably just work, MJ,” Steve insisted, tearing open the envelope’s lip. Though, come to think of it, he’d not been expecting any letters from Stark Entertainment. At least, not until  _ after  _ the pilot was released.

When he tugged the contents out of the envelope, Steve felt the air run thin in his lungs – breath leaving his body.

In his hands was a comic book; gloss-coated and freshly printed. The cover was of his own design. An illustration bursting with colour – the Avengers suited up and ready to fight. Across its header, drawn in gleaming gold, were the words…

**‘** **_“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE!” Vol.1’_ ** **_  
_ ** **_‘“THE BATTLE BEGINS”’_ ** _   
_ _ ‘Debut comic from award-winning author, Tony Stark!’ _ _   
_ __ ‘Illustrated by Steve Rogers’

Steve brushed his fingertips over Tony’s name, written just above his own. His heart grew light with pure wonder. Pride filled his chest, and his stomach churned with excitement. Flipping through the pages, he saw all of it. Every single panel, right where it ought to be. Every character, every setting… every detail was absolutely  _ perfect. _

Each page had the words  _ ‘FINAL SAMPLE’  _ glazed over the top.

“I can’t believe it,” he said breathlessly, unable to wipe the smile from his face. “We did it. We…” 

Steve’s words trailed as a thought crossed his mind. Tony had to see this. Perhaps he already had. Nevertheless, every part of him wanted to sprint to the hospital and show him in person. He wanted to see Tony’s reaction. To share his awe. To worship the very thing they’d created… together.

“I gotta’ go.” Steve slipped the comic book back into the envelope, forgetting to close his apartment door as he bolted down the hallway.

“Uhhh…” Michelle muttered behind him – her voice growing distant. “... Okaay then? I’m gonna’ raid your fridge if that’s cool.”

“Yeah, sure!” Steve called back, his pace quickening. Blood pounding. Heart racing.

He simply couldn’t wait.

\---

“I’m the best.”

Steve hissed through his teeth, a playful smile on his lips. “Need a little ice to nurse that swollen ego, Tony?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that’s not the coolest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.”

The two sat on the edge of the hospital bed, both admiring their comic book resting in Tony’s hands. For the last two hours, they’d done nothing but flip through each page and marvel at their handiwork. They were currently analysing Iron Man and Captain America’s  _ ‘confrontation scene’ _ , set on the Helicarrier. 

“I will admit,” Steve said, still caught in his semi-euphoric happiness, “the dialogue always gets me. I don’t know how you do it, Stark.”

“Hm. Was going for something more along the lines of,  _ ‘Yes, Tony, you’re a literary genius and I worship the ground you stand on’. _ ”

Steve scoffed as Tony began to grin, chuckling lowly. The two sat shoulder to shoulder – close and comfortable in each other’s presence. Somehow, for a brief moment, Tony had allowed himself to grow soft. It felt… nice.

“‘Course, I can’t take all the credit. I mean _ look _ at that.” Tony tapped his finger over the centre of the page. “The detail in the background is astonishing. Love this design. Little dramatic, but what else is new.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it. Means all those hours were worth something.”

Tony smiled, his eyes surprisingly soft. “Yeah… yeah they were.” Steve watched him with fondness swelling in his stomach, butterflies fluttering through his ribs. This man had awoken his passion for art. He’d brought his talents above and beyond. Nothing in existence could possibly repay that debt.

The two continued to browse through the comic, sharing commentary and discussing favourites. As they approached the end, Tony cleared his throat. “Listen, y’know the Captain America spin-off we talked about?”

Steve frowned a little, nodding his head.

“Turns out, the investors are pretty set on funding the project. Can’t imagine why they’re so interested in the patriotic popsicle, but… well, they propositioned a pretty generous start-up. 20 million, to be precise. Not that you’re interested in numbers, but I figured--”

“You want me to sign on.”

“I want you to do what’s best for you.” Tony took a heavy breath, closing the comic book and placing it down onto the bed. Steve felt his shoulders begin to grow heavy. “The way I see it – you getting your own series would do wonders for your career. If all goes to plan, then you could be--”

“I’m not working on another comic book franchise unless it’s with you, Tony.” The words left his mouth before he had a chance to reconsider.

Tony blinked a couple times, his mouth falling open. “First off, don’t interrupt me.” Steve had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. “Second, your attachment to me is hindering your progression in the field. You wanna’ be a big name in illustration, you gotta’ get yourself a backbone, Princess.”

Steve felt his body begin to tense. Tony was offering yet another once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. This could be his gateway into eternal recognition. So why did he suddenly feel so… angry? “Didn’t realise our partnership meant so little to you.”

“I…” Tony furrowed his brow, jaw stuttering. “I don’t follow.”

“I didn’t expect you to.” Steve felt the blood rush to his chest. He tried to reason with himself. To calm his swelling frustration. But none could quell the fact that Tony was  _ everything  _ he’d ever needed to be the best version of himself. For years, he’d searched for something that could bring his art to life. Then, out of nowhere, Tony lifted him up. He changed more than just his work.

He changed his life. 

“Tony, I need you.” Steve tried to stop himself. But sense seemed beyond him. “You made me better. Everything I’ve achieved here was because of  _ you _ .”

“Flattery didn’t get you this job, Rogers.”

“Would you just listen to me? For once in your goddamn life, just  _ listen. _ ” Steve hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but it definitely startled Tony. Enough for him to grow uncharacteristically silent. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I love working with you, Tony. I love seeing your mind at work. Seeing you make something out of nothing. You think I could ever do that on my own? Even if I tried, it would  _ never  _ live up to anything we created together.” Closing his eyes for a moment, he let his thoughts gather. “...Is it so wrong that I want to spend the rest of my life drawing for you?”

Tony’s skin flushed at his words, eyes frantically trailing the floor. His body visibly stiffened. “I…”

The panic settled in Steve’s stomach. Was this the moment when Tony decided he was better off without him?

A buzzing from the hospital bedside pulled their attention away from the conversation. Tony gave a sharp tut, scooping up his phone from the table. He glanced at the caller ID and grumbled. “I gotta’ take this. You can head out, Rogers.”

Steve watched, stunned and irritated as Tony stood from the bed – holding the phone up to his ear. He wandered to the farthest corner of the room, standing by the window as he took his call.

Why did it always come to this? Steve speaking his mind on deaf ears. Useless. Perhaps there was a part of him that believed, or hoped, that Tony would understand. But at the end of the day, Stark was his boss. A figure of authority. Steve had been holding onto a faint dream that they could become a team. A _real_ team. Maybe it was time for him to wake up.

Without another word, Steve stood from the bed – grabbed his coat, and left the room.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Constructive criticism's welcome :)


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